


Debts of Honor

by sareliz



Series: The Chronicles of Avalon [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Actual healing of war trauma, BAMF Women, EWE, Epistolary, F/M, Men Who Love Strong Women, Minister of Magic is for those who lack ambition, Multi, Write the Fic You Want to Read, everybody heals, nobody's perfect
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:54:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 59
Words: 456,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23132749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sareliz/pseuds/sareliz
Summary: ... being a tale of the consequences of a single decision made by a single woman to change the fate of the whole world.There will be plot, there will be so much character development that you'll want to grow as a person just to keep up, and there will be lemons, limes, and beautiful steamy scenes.Come for the plot, stay for Viktor's letters.This is my gift of love to help counterbalance the fear of pandemic viruses.Keep calm and read on.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Viktor Krum, Luna Lovegood/Draco Malfoy, Narcissa Malfoy/Original Character(s)
Series: The Chronicles of Avalon [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1723333
Comments: 1929
Kudos: 731





	1. Prologue: Wherein the scene is properly set.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [linusmir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/linusmir/gifts).



> And so I sat down in every free moment of my life for two months and wrote this. I'm not quite done, but I am quite 200,000 words in. And very shortly I'll return to our regularly scheduled Loki fanfic.
> 
> ...With many thanks to Cabelski's Air, which strongly influenced my headcanon.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything begins somewhere, and usually quite before the point the storyteller sets.

_June 3, 199_  
_ _The Rosary  
_ _Vratsa, Bulgaria_

_Dear Hermione,_

_I was relieved to read in the news that the war in Britain is over. I note that you were in the thick of things until the very end. I have worried for you so, my dearest friend. Are you injured? Can you sleep at night? Please tell me all your news of the past, and your plans for the future, now that you have graduated and won your war, both._

_I am well. Quidditch continues on as it does. My contract ends this summer with Vratsa, and it might be time to be open to trade offers. Mama and Papa accept it as inevitable that I may not just leave home, but move countries. I spend every moment practicing, eating, sleeping, or studying, and so manage to keep myself busy and distracted. Only at night do I pray and allow myself to acknowledge the fear within me._

_I hope this letter is able to be delivered to you. The other ones I sent in the last year were returned entirely undelivered, but that, I suppose, was due to war. In hopes that it will be, I have included a small gift. It is a cutting from one of the roses my family grows. It looks pressed and dried, but that is only a charm. Put it in a small vase of water and end the charm. As long as you keep it in water, it will bloom for you._

_I look forward to hearing that you are safe and well, and even if you are not quite either, I still very much wish to hear from you. Please take care of yourself. You are always in my thoughts._

_Love,  
_ _Viktor_

_PS - if it is easier for you to send mail through muggle means, I have included an address that will work. Please write if you can._

* * *

_  
_ _June 15,199_  
_ _The Granger Residence  
_ _London, UK_

_Dear Viktor,_

_T_ _hank you for your letter. It was very kind of you, and I am sorry that previous attempts hadn’t reached me. I didn’t attend Hogwarts last year, and that is probably why. Which means I didn’t graduate, though we did win the war._

_It is a long and ugly story, for it was a long and ugly time, but it is over now, and that is the most important part of it. Yes, I am injured, but I’ll live. No, I don’t sleep particularly well, but I don’t suppose that really matters, either._

_Due to circumstances being what they were, many of us are going back and redoing our final year, so come September 1st, any letter you send to me at Hogwarts should reach me without a problem._

_Thank you for the rose. It looked wistful, somehow, dried and pressed. When I put it in water and ended the charm it was suddenly so filled with beauty and life and scent I almost cried. There hasn’t been any beauty in the last year, though we clung to life tenaciously and as well as we could. And there is, I suppose, a sort of harsh beauty in that._

_I’m glad to hear Quidditch is still going well for you. Do you have your eye on any particular teams you’d prefer to join? It seems silly for you to move far from those you love, however. I don’t recommend it. Keep the ones you love as close as you can for as long as you can, Viktor. You never know when fate and circumstance will rip them away._

_Tell me about your studies. Tell me again what Vratsa looks like in the summer. Tell me how your parents are doing. Tell me what you pray about, if it’s not too personal. Tell me what makes you afraid, if you can bear to. Tell me anything. Tell me everything. Just don’t tell me about death and destruction and war, because I’ve had my fill._

_I so desperately want to just tell you I’m fine, but I’m not. And I can’t seem to lie to you like I can with everyone else. I’m not fine, Viktor. I close my eyes and I’m back there again, one of any number of places that spawns nightmares for me. It’s possible I’m safe now, really safe, but I don’t feel it. It’s possible I could be well now, or sometime in the future, but that feels so far away. But I still have my sanity, my intelligence, my magic, and all my limbs. I really shouldn’t complain. I’m alive. Harry’s alive. Tom is dead. We won. Those are the four things I really wanted, at the end. The only things I cared about, and I got them all, which I hadn’t expected. You’d think I’d be happier. Honestly, I’m not sure I’ll ever be happy again, not really, not underneath it all._

_Though the rose brings me a bit of peace. Did you charm it that way? Or perhaps that’s just a native quality. Regardless, thank you for your thoughtfulness. You’ve always been the best of friends to me, Viktor. Sometimes I wish you could have been closer, but that always just becomes a selfish and horrible dream, because then you would have been caught up in this war, and given our friendship, you would have been targeted relentlessly. I could never be responsible for that, so it’s just as well we never meet._

_Speaking of which, I was rude to you when last we met. I’m sorry, and I hope the rose means you’ve already forgiven me._

_Letters, clearly, are safer for us. I carried yours with me, even when I was on the run. God! I can’t even write a single paragraph without it devolving into despondency._

_Write soon, and tell me of happier things._

_Your friend,  
_ _Hermione_

* * *

June 17, 199_  
_The Rosary  
_ Vratsa, Bulgaria

_My dearest Hermione,_

_My heart aches for you. At night it is you I pray for, my dearest friend. My most dreaded fear is a long life stretching out before me without you in it._

_You will tell me of your injuries, and who it was that hurt you, and if they still draw breath in this world. Please, Hermione. You must._

_Still. I am more relieved than I have words to describe that you will be given a chance to heal, fully, and begin to know once more of happiness and peace. And you return to school for another year. It is possibly too soon to know what you wish to do in the world after, but when you discover it, I hope you will share it with me._

_I do not agree, however, that letters are always the best way. Even Quidditch players get one day off each week. Come visit me. I will arrange everything, if only you will say you will come. My parents are eager to see you again and I am desperate for it. And as for the last time we met, the attack put all things into perspective. You clearly knew it was coming, it or something like it. All is forgiven, my dearest friend._

_You wish me to speak of lighthearted things, and I would do this for you. Yet all I can think of is you. You have been honest with me, and I treasure that gift. My dearest Hermione, you will be happy again. You will smile and it will be genuine. You will laugh because you cannot keep it inside any longer. You will sigh, not in sadness, but in safety and contentment and pleasure. There is more for you than this pain, this torment._

_My beautiful Hermione. My heart aches for you. I would ask you, if we were face to face, I would hold you in my arms and hope that you felt safe there and I would ask you what I could do that would help you. But you have already said. Tell you of happier things. So I will obey. But know that I would prefer to dry your tears, to hold you as you rage, and to be with you as you come to a place of peace, finally. Let there be no misunderstanding between us, Hermione. Now you know what I want, and now I will do what you want._

_Quidditch is going very well indeed. Five years on and I am a much better player than when I began. I am very wiley, you see, very crafty, and I always study very closely the sort of person the opposing seeker is. I do not just fly and catch the snitch at the right moment. It is not just dangerous maneuvers for the fun of it. I hope you will pardon the vulgarity - only with you, Hermione, will I be this real - but I fuck with their heads, each in a slightly different way. They examine me in past games to try and find a weakness they can exploit, but they would do better to examine themselves, as I am. If they understood better their own weaknesses they would then know mine. But then, my weakness is not found on the field, and they do tend to carry theirs with them wherever they go. Mine I leave at home for the nights full of prayer and darkness. But during the day I have faith and it is strong indeed._

_Last year I have begun a new training technique. I fly at high speeds through dense forest. It is, perhaps, just as dangerous as it sounds, and it does wonders for stress relief. It is also quite fun, which is largely how I prefer my danger to be._

_You ask if I have my eye on any teams in particular for a trade. No, no single team is my aim. It’s more of a region into which I am considering moving, and it is this to which my parents have already well accustomed themselves. You are right, of course. One must keep one’s loved ones close. It is the only important thing. And so I consider changing teams._

_My parents are very well. The roses are, as you have witnessed, just as they ought to be. I sent you the white concordia rose, and I am glad that you are enjoying it. I picture you, your face an essay of calmness, at least for a moment, the rose before your lips as you take in the pungent and visceral beauty of it. Your eyes are closed in this fantasy, and your breath is deep and even. And then I see you smile, your eyes still closed. It is a smile for yourself, for the rose, for me._

_My studies - can you not tell? I study English, my own Myon. Harder than ever, these last two years. I am finally fluent, though if I had known it would be so important, I would have been at seventeen. Conversation twice a week, grammar for so long it hurt, and I speak only English at home now, which has stymied the house elves somewhat, but they have coped, and one has decided to follow my example. In case you should visit, they will be ready. I have read out loud every book in English I can get my hands on, several times, as there are not many. I would greatly appreciate recommendations. I’ll take anything. If it is boring, it is at least in English. And if I know the title and author, then I can order it specifically and that makes things so much easier. Still, English is far easier now than it was when I was in Scotland with you. Now the words just flow, as you see. I even dream in English, now._

_When Quidditch is over for me, which would be perhaps another fourteen years or so - when I am 35, you understand - I shall retire and perhaps then take a mastery. There are many branches of magic that fascinate me and bear further study, and indeed it is why I did finish my last year of schooling, even if it was in Scotland, instead of simply going professional as soon as possible, to the exclusion of all else. But of course, plans so very far away are dependent on many factors, and so I hesitate to say what will be with any certainty. But it is one of many things I tentatively look forward to, this, or some variation on the theme._

_Do you like music, Hermione? It’s never come up in our conversations. Do you sing? Do you play an instrument? Do you appreciate it without being able to produce it yourself? Please tell me if I can ever hope to entrance you with my meagre skills, or if stringed instruments are an anathema to you. I learned from my mother, and received my own cello upon my graduation. It is certainly one of many, many things I cannot share much at all with you in a letter. I can tell you how transcendent the first movement of Bach’s Unaccompanied Cello Suite is, how full of light and gentleness and in its own way, purity and hope. How its repetitions induce calm, how its gentle vigor stirs up hope with a patience and relentlessness I admire greatly. It reminds me of you, of course. Not of the experiences you have undoubtedly shared in of late, but of how you are when you laugh, when you smile, when you are in my arms. Alas, I hold none but the cello._

_What more is there to tell you? My life is very boring. Summer in Vratsa is dull without you to share in it. I write this letter out near the roses, hoping some of their scent will last in the paper, though it is getting dark now and too much magic must not be used near them._

_It is a small gift (I am inside now) but I would give you these, more. I thought perhaps at first I would give you others, but I think you need more concordia in your life, my dearest friend. Now you have a full dozen, and if you treat them well, they will never fade. Few things in life are like this, but some do exist, Myon._

_I miss you, Myon. (And this letter returns to the beginning, in the end.) My heart aches for you, and still I will pray, now for your healing. Write to me soon, my dearest one. And do, please, come visit me, or let me come to you. It will not be like it was last time, with fear and horror so near at hand. It will be like our letters, but so much better._

_With all my heart,  
_ _Viktor_


	2. Chapter 1: Wherein our tale begins with two debts of honor.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Narcissa Malfoy proves to be the most forward thinking person of consequence in all of post-war Wizarding Britain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so glad all yall like the story so far. I know it's not a hugely popular pairing, though for the life of me I can't think why. Even in canon the boy is an athlete, a scholar, a polyglot, and the most talented wizard in his cohort at Durmstrang or he wouldn't have been chosen as TW Champion. Aaaand I think you'll like how I write him.

_July 31, 199_  
_ _Malfoy Manor_

_Mr. Harry Potter,_

_I am writing to thank you for the favor you have done for me during the war. Your kindness and selflessness are truly noble, and I was glad to hear of your elevation. No one is more deserving of such an honor than you and your compatriots, and that is plain to see._

_Though it is not customary to expect repayment of favors done in wartime, and particularly not across lines as ours was, I would offer you the debt all the same._

_You may retain this letter as proof of such a debt to be repaid at your leisure between our two houses. Alternately, if this does not suit, there is a way the House of Malfoy may repay the debt more immediately. If such a thing would be of interest, I would be honored to call upon you and your wife at your home at a time of your convenience._

_I look forward to your response._

_In your debt,  
_ _Lady Narcissa Malfoy, nee Black_

* * *

 _July 31, 199_  
_ _Malfoy Manor_

_Miss Hermione Granger,_

_I am writing to apologize most profusely for the wrong my sister has done to you in the war, and for my own inaction in the matter. Though she was not one to be reasoned with in her later days, I could sometimes and very occasionally temper her madness. That I did not make the attempt in my own home has remained my most regretted act during this war. My own inaction at that time haunted me into action during the final battle, when I chose to lie to the Dark Lord in order to protect your friend, and so end the battle on favorable terms for the side of the light._

_I am so terribly sorry for what happened to you, Miss Granger, and I am sorry for not attempting to thwart it. My sister’s choice in act was cruel and torturous and entirely unnecessary._

_Though it is not customary to hold debts of honor from actions in wartime, and indeed this debt, should it be held, might rightly be taken between House Granger and House LeStrange, I must have my part of the shame._

_Please retain this letter as proof of the debt of honor the House of Malfoy has to the House of Granger, to be called upon and repaid at your leisure, or the leisure of your heirs. If this does not suit, there is a way that the House of Malfoy may repay the debt more immediately. If such a thing would be of interest, I would be honored to call upon you at your home at a time of your convenience._

_I look forward to your response._

_In your debt,  
_ _Lady Narcissa Malfoy, nee Black_

* * *

“So you and I got one of these but Ron didn’t?” he asked, wrapping his fingers around a mug as they sat at the kitchen table of the Black Townhouse on Grimmauld Place. The room was as depressing as it ever was.

Hermione nodded.

“Weird.”

“Is it?” she asked. Hermione shifted in her chair. It was uncomfortable, but that was nothing new. “Is it really? I mean, aside from the cruciatus which I could almost write off as the horrors of war, my arm hasn’t stopped hurting. She used a cursed blade, you know. I have to take iron pills every day from a muggle chemist, and I take a weekly blood replenisher potion, because the wound won’t stop the slow bleed. It’s like I’m constantly menstruating or something. Oh, don’t give me that look. And there’s no known cure, so it looks like I’ll just be changing the bandages three times a day for the next hundred and twenty years. Or leave a trail of blood everywhere I go. I mean, as war wounds go, I suppose it’s not terrible. I still have full use of the arm, even through the pain. And I have nightmares, but I’m sure all of us do. Still. You told her her son was still alive, and her sister carved up my arm for sport. I understand her point. And Ron really doesn’t figure into any of that. At least not with Draco’s mother.”

“Hmm,” Harry considered audibly as he munched on a halfway decent scone Kreacher had come up with. “You answered yet?” he asked around his mouthful.

Hermione shook her head, then remembered herself and answered properly. “No. I feel like I should, but I just don’t know what to say. And I don’t particularly want her in my house, though I get her point.”

Harry looked confused. “There was some kind of hidden meaning in that?”

Hermione smiled, and considered what sort of pleasure reading Harry might not have done when he had the opportunity. Probably not Jane Austen, for one. “Yes. She’s putting herself at our service and our convenience, and offering to come to us, which is kind of a big thing. It’s not just the favor or the debt. It’s… well, it’s an acknowledgement that we’re her equals. And if I lived in a big house with servants to clean and provide tea by just ringing a bell, then it would be quite convenient for her to come at my beck and call. But as I live alone in my parent’s former semi-detached, I haven’t vacuumed in months, and I have nothing proper to wear, it’s less convenient to me than just meeting in a cafe or something. But a cafe wouldn’t allow privacy, and it wouldn’t make the point she’s trying to make. It’s just that we live in different worlds. And so what is an honor given by her is rather an inconvenience for me. But that doesn’t mean I want to snub her, you know?”

“Why don’t you want to snub her?” he asked after he swallowed this time, mercifully. “I’m considering it, honestly. Or maybe just not answering.”

Hermione shrugged and was silent for a moment. “You know, I think part of it is I just want to move on. And the fewer people I feel like I have to avoid in the magical world because of Tom Riddle’s insanity, the better. And if we can make some sort of amends, I don’t want to just say no out of hand. Not just because of who she is, her family, her background. I mean, that’s what they do to muggleborns, you know? I don’t want to sink to that level.”

Harry nodded silently. “And the other part?”

Hermione took a sip of her tea. It wasn’t terrible. Kreacher did at least make decent tea. “Well, its possible but not probable that she might have an idea of something to do with my arm. Some helpful thing, that is. That wouldn’t quite pay off the debt, I don’t think, but it would be a good start. But even if that’s not it, it might be interesting. I mean, I don’t want to say it will go this far, but my parents always treasured the genuine friends they had from other generations, and, well, that’s something of theirs that I can take with me no matter where I am. No matter where they are, or what they’ve forgotten. I’ve got to take my gifts from my parents when they come. And perhaps this will turn out to be like that.”

Harry blinked several times. “You’re looking forward to being friends with Draco’s mum?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Did you just miss everything I said up until that point?”

He raised an eyebrow and took a sip of tea. “No, everything until that sounded totally reasonable.”

She shook her head. “Okay, so what about you? What are your objections?”

“Other than the fact that I have no idea how to behave in front of gentry?”

Hermione waved him off. “Just mind your manners and ignore the rest.”

Harry cocked his head and stared at her. It seemed like he was waiting. The penny, however, refused to drop.

“What?” she finally prompted.

“Manners? You mean, the lovely code of conduct that was instilled in me by the Dursleys? Be silent, make no eye contact, make no noise, and do all the washing, cleaning, and cooking? Or the free-for-all-but-don’t-be-caught rules of the Gryffindor Tower? Which set of manners should I employ in this situation, Hermione?”

Hermione took this in in silence. She’d really just thought… well, she’d thought that Harry and Ron were both _raised_ with manners and just chose not to use them because they were, in a word, _boys._ Which was a terrible piece of gender bias if ever there was one, and she was mildly horrified to have made such an assumption for years.

She nodded silently then caught herself. “I…” Oh, this was awkward. She was really trying to take a step back in micromanaging the boys, now that they were out of school. And it was really hard sometimes. “Would you like me to teach you?”

“ _Yes,”_ he replied emphatically. “I mean, Gin and I want to have kids at some point, you know? And as the youngest, and the only girl, she didn’t learn much about this either. And it’s not like I learned a lot of useful parenting skills from my aunt and uncle. I figure stuff like this can only help. But would you mind if Gin sat in on the lessons, too? I mean, if she wants to?”

Hermione took a deep breath and took this all on board. “Alright. I can’t promise you’ll be ready to be presented to the Queen by the time we’re done, but I can get you from where you are now to instinctively polite behavior. If you do me a favor in return.”

Harry looked at her askance.

“No, it’s just, I don’t want to meet her at my parents’ house. Let me meet her here. Let’s do that together. That way you don’t have to face the meeting alone, just you and Ginny, and I don’t have to vacuum, or deal with the angst of that meeting alone, either.”

Harry gave her a look. “Please. You could have just asked. I’d rather you be there anyway. So, what do you say? Let’s answer these letters together, and then we’ll do a month of lessons to get ready. Well, get ready for the meeting, and for the rest of life. But look. I know Grimmauld Place is nothing to get excited about, but come and stay. I know you really don’t want to be at your parents’ house.”

“Honestly, Harry, I don’t want to be here, either. No offence. My parents’ house is a lot more comfortable than this.”

“Are you going to sell it, eventually?”

Hermione shrugged. “It’s not mine. I’d hoped I could bring them back, restored memories, perhaps. But either way I didn’t plan for them to not return, and I’m not sure I could fake their deaths properly. Anyway, I’d need to report them missing to the police, and if I’m going to go that route, I really need to do that soon, and that means I need to make up a hell of a story for why I’ve waited so long. And then I’ll have to wait for them to be declared dead, which will take a while.”

Harry nodded and sipped his tea. “I’ll help. You know I will. We’ll figure this out. Should we ask Ron, or are you two on the outs right now? Not trying to be judgy. It’s just hard to keep up with you two.”

Hermione kept it all on the inside. “Perhaps we won’t involve him this time. Besides, we’ll all see each other at the ceremony in two months. At which point I hope _I’ll_ be ready to meet the Queen.”

“Yes,” Harry said dryly. “I can’t wait to be knighted. My aunt will be so proud.”

* * *

 _August 2, 199_  
_ _12 Grimmauld Place_

_Lady Narcissa Malfoy,_

_Thank you for your letter._

_I would like to join with my friend whom you have also written to and invite you to have tea with us on August 31st at ten o’clock in the morning. My wife will also be present. We look forward to listening to your proposals._

_Until then,  
_ _Harry Potter, OM  
_ _ & on behalf of Hermione Granger, OM _

* * *

_August 2, 199_  
_ _Malfoy Manor_

_Mr. Potter & Miss Granger, _

_I am in receipt of your letter and will be honored to call upon you both, with Mrs. Potter, in a month’s time._

_Likewise I look forward to joining with the wizarding nobles of our country so that we may witness the much deserved elevation of yourselves and your two compatriots in two months time. If I may be of service before this event, I hope you will not hesitate to call upon me._

_In your debt,  
_ _Lady Malfoy_

* * *

“Okay. What do you think that last bit is about, then?” Harry asked, sharing the letter between Hermoine and Ginny over dinner at Hermione’s still unvacuumed house.

“Ginny, your thoughts?” Hermione asked, before sharing her own.

“I honestly have no idea what might be going through that woman’s mind. I’m not entirely convinced it isn’t the obvious: she’s maneuvering for influence wherever she can, to salvage whatever she can. I mean, her husband is in Azkaban and from what I’ve heard her son now lives out of a bottle most days. I can imagine she’s not quite in the mood to just host garden parties all summer long.”

Hermione sighed. “In the big picture, I think you may be right. In part, at least. But I doubt her motives are so simple. That she is reworking her social relationships is obvious from these letters. And it will gain her influence. Whether that influence is small or large has yet to be revealed, but time will tell. But cunning and ambition were the hallmarks of her house in Hogwarts, and though I am loathe to judge all people by the house they were sorted into when they were eleven, a successful Slytherin would play the long game, have several exits in case of emergency, and a whole set of motives which may occasionally conflict one another, which would actually be a good thing, as they would be prepared for a variety of outcomes. And she is certainly a successful Slytherin.”

Ginny snorted. “How do you figure that?”

“ _She’s_ not in Azkaban, and her trial was quick. The woman hosted the Dark Lord in her home for some unknown but significant length of time, for heaven’s sake. And perhaps more impressively, her _son_ is not in Azkaban, despite conspiring to kill the Headmaster, and being the lynchpin on an attack at the school, all of which had witnesses. And we followed the trial. She was just convincing. Her lawyer had all the exits covered. It clearly wasn’t a case of a judge-in-pocket. It all came down to her last move in the final battle. That secured her entire future, and no wonder she feels she owes you a favor Harry. If you hadn’t played along with her, had we still won the battle, she would have been bound for Azkaban, she and Draco both. That was the one witnessed action on which her lawyer built the entire character of a reluctant death eater, turning spy at the most useful moment.”

Harry and Ginny had nodded along as they sipped their red wine and ate their roasted chicken with table manners not quite as appalling as Hermione remembered from school, or even their terrible time camping and travelling.

“But what about the last line?”

Hermione considered the page again. It was nice paper. Then again, all her notes had come on nice paper.

“Well, I think her stating what she did about the ceremony has several meanings. One that seems clear to me is that she will greet us about as warmly as she thinks we will take when we see each other, which given the fact that there will be reporters present should be a hoot the next day. Personally, I’d lay a bet on an air kiss to one cheek, should our acquaintance go so far by then.”

“But if that’s the case,” added Ginny, “I can’t see her doing well with any of her old set.”

Hermione shrugged. “I’m sure that’s her entire point.”

“So you really think she’s ready to just totally cut out that entire part of her life?” Harry asked, clearly in a pensive mood.

“If you think about it, that’s a decision she made at the last battle. And she did it to protect herself and her son. I mean, really. She cut herself off from her own husband. After that choice, I imagine the rest was rather easier. And she’s busy seeking out new connections. We might not end up best mates - I mean, can you really see her down at the pub with Neville and Dean? - but it wouldn’t be bad for us to be friendly with her.”

“Oh, do tell why _that_ would be the case, ‘Mione,” Harry said. “I mean, it does now seem clear why she wants to make up to us. But the reverse?”

“ _Because!_ If we’re being honest about this pure-blood business being utter nonsense, then that doesn’t just go one way. And if we tear down the walls and say that half-bloods and muggle-borns are just as good, and should be accepted without blinking, then so are so-called pure-bloods. Just as good. Should be accepted without blinking. So why should we decline such an overture? Just because she has ulterior motives? Well, so have I. I want to change the entirety of Wizarding Britain, and I wouldn’t mind having some friends in high places. Or at least some friends that know how you’re supposed to act when you’re in high places. Which brings me to the last line. That might be about clothes.”

Ginny and Harry spoke at the same time.

“Ooooh!”

“What?”

“Do you know the right balance between subtle and excellent, skewed to the side of formal-enough-to-meet-the-Queen? Because I don’t. But I bet Lady Malfoy does. And I bet she would introduce us to her modiste, and give advice.”

“Now that’s a thing, isn’t it? I mean, the Queen’s a muggle, right? But all these anti-muggle purebloods get excited to have tea with her, or whatever.”

Ginny snorted. “That’s because she hands out the best toys. Exceptions can be made, dear husband.” She patted his hand for good measure.

* * *

Lessons commenced and began with posture, speech, and where to and not to put one’s hands. And then lessons regressed and covered the more elementary portion of _why manners mattered._

“It’s the social contract, you know? So if we have an agreed upon way to act, despite growing up in different areas and different families, then we won’t accidentally cause offense. There’s a bit of health and hygiene thrown in there, especially with refraining from touching your own face. The idea is that if you have something contagious, you’re less likely to pass it on by touching people if your hands are essentially clean, and if you touch your own face then touch someone else, you’re more likely to transmit whatever you have. It’s a courtesy. I mean, you may know you’re not contagious, but other people don’t. And can you trust that they aren’t? So you do them the courtesy of not touching your own face and freaking them out, and they do the same for you. All the rules make sense in context, and not all of them have that context at any given time, but that’s no reason not to be courteous if it’s in our ability to do so.”

And then they moved on to table manners. For two weeks, Hermione ate her dinner with the Potters, and when Kreacher saw what she was doing, he muttered around her less. This was a small mercy, given how resistant both Harry and Ginny were to changing their eating habits.

“I’m not saying you have to do this all the time. I mean, it would be good at first, until you can do it without thinking. And after that, use the manners when you want to. But until then, I’d say go cold turkey. Practice everything as often as you eat.”

“I have to agree with Hermione at least on eating while you talk. It’s dreadful to watch, honestly. Mum and Dad never do, and most of my brothers don’t, but Ron does it all the time and I just can’t take it,” Ginny added.

Harry gave her a look. “But you do it, sometimes.”

She sighed, but answered audibly because she now realized it was the polite thing to do, and was catching herself more and more. “Yes, but that doesn’t mean I really want to.”

“If you think about it,” Hermione said, trying to be a reconciling force, “It’s really all about three things. First, you’re less likely to choke if you just concentrate on chewing. Second, you’re more likely to take smaller bites that you chew thoroughly so that it’s not so long in between what you might wish to say, and that’s better for your digestion. Third, it’s about patience. If you’re so impatient to speak that you must do it while you are chewing, perhaps you’re not giving your conversational partner enough time.”

And so the lessons continued.

* * *

At the end of August, they all had to go shopping. Harry didn’t have anything beyond his school uniform, and hand-me-down clothes that never fit properly, and despite the fact that none of them presently had a) guardians or b) jobs, they each had a reasonable amount of money in the bank. They had all decided to take the Headmistress up on her offer for any departing seventh years to return for an eighth year, which hadn’t stopped Harry from proposing to Ginny, and it hadn’t stopped Ginny from taking him up to Scotland to be married as soon as possible, and without her parent’s permission.

The eighth years would be housed separately, in suites, and would be afforded more freedom, as they were all adults, and the same went for any couples who had decided on a hasty post-war marriage, of which the Potters were only one.

But all three of them needed new clothes and supplies for the upcoming year at Hogwarts, and Ginny and Hermione insisted that they needed some new, decent muggle clothing, both for leisure, and more formal wear.

“It just makes sense for each of us to have a suit. A decently colored, totally normal suit for interviews and formal meetings and such. We could top it at some point with some formal wizarding cloak, and have the best of both worlds.”

“I thought you said _she_ wanted to take us shopping,” Harry pointed out from inside a curtained dressing room in a muggle shop on the high street. Even here he didn’t want to mention her name in public, and neither Ginny nor Hermione could blame him.

“Yes, but we’re not meeting her for the first time until tomorrow, and we need clothes before we leave for Scotland the day _after_ tomorrow. Any shopping with her will be taking advantage of those new, expanded privileges we’ve been given.” It was Ginny who answered him, and interestingly, it was Ginny who had the least expanded privileges of the three, given that she was a year behind.

“Who do you think they’ll get to teach Defence this year?” Hermione asked, changing the subject as she picked out a different style of jeans for Harry to try on.

“Please. After the last three years, an illiterate vagrant would do a better job,” Ginny pointed out, silently nodding at Hermione’s choice.

“Try these,” Hermione said, folding them up and scooting them under the curtain. “Sad days when Death Eaters are your best Defence professors,” she said quietly.

“Not the Carrows,” Ginny whispered vehemently. “Torturers _and_ crap teachers, both.”

After Harry’s choices were made and paid for, they took themselves off to a men’s formal wear shop they had passed that advertised tailoring services. They eventually gave the shop the muggle address for Hogwarts that Hermione knew and Harry had forgotten about. If nothing else, Harry would have a decent, tailored suit ready to meet the Queen. That couldn’t be half bad.

The same happened for Ginny and Hermione’s suits, when they got to the appropriate store, and it was nearing dinner time by the time they were done.

“I really don’t want to eat at the Leaky, but if we eat around here, we won’t get back to Malkin’s in time to pick up our uniforms,” Ginny pointed out.

“Meh. Let’s pick up our uniforms tomorrow. Come back to my house. There’s a fabulous Indian take-away nearby and we can dine like kings,” Hermione said as they made their way back to the Tube station.

“But will we dine like Knights in the Order of Merlin?” Harry asked philosophically.

“Gah!” Ginny and Hermione responded more or less at the same time, and swung packages laiden with casual clothes at his legs.

“Oi! Stop that!” he yelped, shielding himself with his own bag of clothes and dancing away from them down the escalator. “I’m a fragile butterfly, I am. And I bruise easily,” he added.

At that both women dissolved into giggles. Hermione was relieved to see an easy smile on Harry’s face. It wasn’t something she’d seen very often lately, and it soothed something in her she hadn’t realized was upset.

* * *

Over a kingly but perhaps not a knightly feast that perhaps included not quite as many vegetables as it ought, Hermione brought up a sensitive issue. Well, sensitive to her, at least.

“So, I’ve mentioned that Viktor and I have started writing again. And I’m, well, I’m not exactly sure what to make of his letters. I mean the first one was just to see if I was okay, and to see if the letter could get through. That was obvious. But the second… well. I owe him a letter. I’m quite overdue, really. And I have no idea what to say.” She looked back and forth between Harry and Ginny.

“Are we allowed to read the letter, or should we just guess at its contents?” Harry asked mildly, eating his food with relish, but at a sedate speed with small bites that were very well done indeed.

“He hasn’t trashed you, has he? I’ll kill him if he’s trashed you,” Ginny said, almost but refraining from gesturing with her fork.

Hermione cleared her throat and blushed. “Maybe you should just read the letter. But you’ll keep it private, won’t you? Especially when he talks about quidditch strategy?”

“He talks to _you_ about quidditch strategy?” Harry mused, confused. 

Ginny turned to him. “Maybe he does it in a very compelling fashion?” She sounded dubious.

Meanwhile, Hermione reached into her beaded purse and pulled out a stack of letters three inches thick, held together with a ribbon that had seen better days. She pulled out the top letter without undoing the ribbon, and dropped the stack back in her purse.

Hermione handed it over to Harry and he held up the sheaf of unfolded paper between him and his wife so they could both see.

Moments in and explitives were being softly breathed. Which meant it was worse than she thought.

“ _Merlin,”_ Ginny whispered, her eyes feverishly scanning the page.

“Holy shit, Hermione,” Harry whispered not long after. And then, “Wait, when did he write this… _Christ Hermione!”_ And then he went back to reading. And then there was silence for a very long time. Hermione watched as eyes got rounder, as expressions flitted across their faces, and she remembered the letter herself.

 _My heart aches for you._ She could hear him say it. There would be an eternity of longing as he said the word ‘aches’, but now she was just being ridiculous. He just meant that because she went through something terrible and he didn’t. And he did obliquely mention embracing her several times, but friends hug. There was a lot of hugging after the final battle. And she and Ron were… well, very briefly something, though it petered out and just as well. God, she didn’t even know how Vitkor felt, but he made _her_ feel so much more than Ron did. And Ron did hold her. And kissed her. And whispered kind and complimentary things in her ear. And Viktor’s words on a page did more for her. He moved her to laughter and tears and so much longing she was desperate and probably for much more than he was willing ever to give her.

_Oh, God she was a terrible person._

And she hadn’t even fully broken it off with Ron. She might have done _that_ earlier, too, along with answering Viktor’s letter in a timely fashion, but they had promised to give a summer’s worth of thought to it, and she was a woman of her word.

But there was probably nothing there in the letter. It was long, but they usually were. He was passionate in his descriptions, but he was a passionate man. He’d asked to see her, but that was probably just a very bad idea that she would have to politely decline, because she’d seen a recent picture of him in the Prophet and he hadn’t gotten any less captivating. It wouldn’t do to make a complete ninny of herself and do a reenactment of her second year crush on the unattainable. Because really, what kind of future could she have with Viktor anyway?

None. There was nothing there.

But his words were beautiful. And he learned English for her. Well, okay, he just learned English, but she got to benefit from his dedication to the task, whatever his reasons, and that was a lovely bonus. And his words did flow so easily, and he’d written back so quickly, and all in one evening, it seemed, not like previous letters that had taken him weeks to compose, the sweet boy.

“Fuck, Hermione,” Harry said, finishing more slowly than Ginny, and folding the letter. He went to hand it back to her, but Ginny caught it first.

Ginny held the letter up between them. “This man is **_desperately_ **in love with you, Hermione. His heart nearly bled on the page. Tell me you already wrote back to him with the names of your future children picked out.”

Hermione blinked. And then she blinked again. “You know I haven’t,” she pointed out. “And I’m not really sure he feels that way,” she said quietly. “That’s why I wanted you to read the letter. I don’t know how to respond.” She looked back and forth from Harry to Ginny.

Harry was looking at her like she was stupid.

Ginny looked ready to spontaneously combust.

“Come on,” Hermione cajoled. “Use words. I need help.”

“How can you not see that he’s in love with you?” Harry asked quite reasonably, considering Ginny's wordless gesturing. “I don’t get it. I mean, I can see it. If I can see it, it should be obvious in general, I think.”

“He never said he was in love with me,” Hermione argued. “And he doesn’t say it in this letter.”

“He’s given you roses,” Ginny pointed out.

“His family _grows_ roses. It’s their industry. That and breeding guard dogs. And I’m glad he didn’t send me one of those.”

“Okay,” Ginny said, opening the letter back up. “You asked for it. We’re going through this line by line.”

“That might be helpful,” Hermione admitted, pushing aside her dinner for the moment.

“Okay. Right here. In the first four lines he has utterly and completely declared himself. He’s done everything short of saying, Hermione, I love you, please consider marrying me.”

“Wwwh-jd-wh-wha… _no he didn’t!”_ Hermione finally managed to say.

“And I quote: _‘My dearest Hermione,’_ point one. _‘My heart aches for you,’_ point two. _‘At night it is you I pray for, my dearest friend,’_ point three. _‘My most dreaded fear is a long life stretching out before me without you in it,’_ point four. Shall I translate?”

“Yes,” Hermione breathed out, still not exactly and completely seeing their point, because Viktor was just like that. He was passionate and flowery and he always had her all mixed up.

“Right. Point one: You are the person I hold most dear in the world. Point two: My heart is breaking, thinking of you. Point three: You are the person I think most of, who consumes my thoughts, and whom I pray for. Point four, and do pay attention to this Hermione: My only fear in life is that we won’t end up spending our lives together after all.”

“Bu… he… didn’t… _say_ that,” Hermione defended.

“Uh,” Harry responded. “Pretty sure he did. I mean, he’s really eloquent, and you’re clearly the reason behind that-”

“-You don’t know that!” Hermione snapped. “He said he learned English, he didn’t say why!”

Ginny held up a finger. “Let’s take this line by line. All in good time. We’ll get to mandatory English lessons in a minute. Let’s review. First four lines. He’s being very clear with his intentions from the start.” When Hermione opened her mouth, Ginny held out her hand again. “Even if you can’t accept that he is _desperately_ in love with you and both sounding you out and working up to being able to admit it bold as brass, you have to admit that from these four lines alone at least that he cares very, very deeply for you, and if you aren’t considered his best friend, I’d be shocked.”

“But, Harry’s my best friend,” Hermione said, her own heart aching a bit.

Harry smiled at her. “And you two are my best friends. Best friend-slash-wife,” he said, looking at Ginny, “and best friend-slash… sister,” he said, looking back at Hermione. “You can have two, and they can be different.”

“Right. Moving on to the second paragraph, he has a very obvious and reasonable urge to kill Bellatrix, but Mum beat him to it. But what we can read in this is that in addition to caring very, very deeply for you, he’s protective of you. There’s only one reason a guy wants to know the names of people in your past who have hurt you, and that is so they can hunt them down. A fine and reasonable instinct, and it does him credit.

“Third paragraph. He says he doesn’t have words to describe his relief that you’re alive and able to carry on in life, but you know, I bet he does. But I bet he doesn’t think you’re willing to hear them yet. He’s an extremely tactful man, our Viktor. And he’s not going to say those words yet because I bet they mostly all involve diamond rings and the promise of orgasms and night time snuggling.” 

Hermione took that in with a bit of trouble, but perhaps not as much as she might have. It was true that he really couldn’t say what Ginny had, not at this point in their relationship. It would be a bit of a jump, really. And he certainly didn’t lack for words in the rest of the letter. He had plenty of them, and they were all absolutely perfect. She nodded silently, thinking about many things.

“Fourth paragraph. Where are we? Here we go. He’s begging you to visit, to see you in person. He says he’s desperate to see you, Hermione, and he hides that little nugget behind his parents politely looking forward to your arrival. Right there. Black and white. He’s desperate to see you again. Desperate. Let me reiterate: Viktor is desperate to see Hermione. All is forgiven, your the one he treasures most in the world, and Viktor is desperate to see Hermione. What is Viktor? _Desperate to see you._ I’d say he buried the lead, but it was all right there in the first four lines. After hearing about his breaking heart we can hardly be surprised at all about his desperate need to see you, except perhaps for the fact that he admitted it boldly. And he did. Mostly. Only slightly hidden, but possibly just so you could gloss over it if you didn’t feel the same way.

“Fifth paragraph. You consume his every thought. He wants you to be happy, and I’ll bet he himself wants to be right next to you when you are. And also, veiled reference to sex, and since he’s making it, it’s clearly him he imagines you having sex with.”

“What! What?” Hermione cried out. “There is no such thing! Read it out. There is no such reference, Ginny Potter!”

“And I quote, _“You will sigh, not in sadness, but in safety, and contentment and pleasure.’_ He’s not talking about sighing while eating chocolate, Hermione. He’s clearly referencing a sigh of pleasure at the extremely sexual way he’s just touched you.”

Hermione spluttered. “You-you-you just think that because you’re _newlyweds!”_

Ginny raised an eyebrow and looked at Harry. He looked at Hermione and shook his head. “Nah. If a guy actually has the guts to talk to a girl about her sighing in pleasure, trust me. He’s thinking about sex, a lot, her, and preferably with him. Anyone arguing anything else is just someone trying to backpedal and be nonchalant about just how much they want to bang the other person. Trust me. It’s a guy thing.”

Hermione was red to the roots of her hair. “Viktor… doesn’t… think that way about me,” she argued, but a tiny, tiny voice pointed out that he might. He could. He was a man. And sometimes, when they were together so long ago, sometimes, sometimes he would look at her like he would give her his soul, if he could.

But whatever they had was pure. And innocent. Children with crushes and holding hands. And now he was older and so wise, so responsible…

 _And so damn sexy you want to climb him like a tree,_ an entirely unhelpful voice whispered in her head.

“Hermione,” Harry began gently. “I love you. You’re the most intelligent person I’ve ever met. And this is clearly your blind spot. Everyone has them, or so I’m told. Mine was Tom. Yours is apparently Viktor. I saw you at the Yule Ball all those years ago. And I get that we’re talking about now and not then, but ‘Mione. You were gorgeous, and Viktor almost drooled. The only time I’ve ever seen the man genuinely smile is in your company. At the very least can you accept that your seventeen year old boyfriend had heroic restraint and did not let you in on the secret that all seventeen year old boyfriends have?”

Hermione smiled despite herself. “And what secret is that?”

“That they want to have sex with their girlfriend at every opportunity.”

“True,” Ginny added. “So true. Some are very bad at hiding it.”

“Viktor wasn’t like that!” Hermione argued fervently. 

“No, he was the perfect gentleman _on the outside._ I could take a lesson from him. But that’s the outside,” Harry said. “You’re the one who always talks about manners and their _purpose.”_

Hermione’s brain stopped dead.

The purpose of manners and politeness was to convey a socially acceptable message (in the best way) and not give offence, so that social situations could smoothly flow, despite people having different assumptions and different emotions. Your own reaction stays inside, and remains your own business. And you share it with those you wish to, in private.

And Viktor Krum had impeccable manners. Absolutely impeccable. It was one of the things she really lov-- highly valued about him.

And the thing about people with _impeccable_ manners was that you’d only find out what they really thought about you if they deigned to tell you.

Somewhere inside of Hermione, the other shoe dropped.

Woodenly she nodded and sightless eyes tried to see what she never had seen.

“Sixth paragraph,” Ginny said gently. “His heart is breaking. He wants to hold you, comfort you, probably also have very gentle sex with you and give you lots of orgasms, but he’d never rush you into that knowledge. He wants to hold you while you cry, and he’s desperate for you to understand how much he wants to be there for you. And we’ll earmark this one to be cross-referenced with him wanting to move out of Bulgaria and closer to someone he loves.

“And then he shifts gears because you’ve apparently asked him to in his last letter, and he is damn amusing when he talks quidditch. I can see why your eyes don’t glaze over.

“Now on the ninth paragraph, cross-referenced with the sixth paragraph, you’ve apparently urged him not to move away from his loved ones and this is maybe his least veiled thing yet, and maybe also his most obviously veiled thing. Its clear there’s something here he’s not telling you, but maybe he’s not saying it because _it’s so bloody obvious._ Point one, he doesn’t care about individual teams, he’s trying to go for a general region. Cross-reference with his intense language immersion in _English_ , it is clearly a region that primarily speaks _English_. If we assume he’s not trying to trade to Canada, America, Australia, or New Zealand, that leaves us and Ireland. I’ll grant you the others are possibilities, but then, so is Britain, and since his best friend lives in Britain, we’ll put that at the top of his list, shall we?” 

Hermione slowly nodded, eyes still wide and unseeing.

“Now, his parents have also had plenty of time to acclimate to his decision, which probably means years. Also cross-reference with his language study, which has been going on most intensely for the last two years. This means that Viktor has been quietly and studiously planning to move, right about now, to England, for at least the last two years. And Hermione, forgive me for stating the obvious, but right about now is when you were due to be finished with school.”

“Hard to date,” Harry pointed out, “when you’re in different countries. Probably a lot easier if he moved here, first.”

Her mouth was dry. She blinked, but it didn’t help.

“And then he concedes what must have been a previous point you made about keeping your loved ones close, and points out that’s why he’s moving. He’s moving. To Britain. He’s been preparing for years. To be closer to you, when you were ready for closeness. Because he loves you. It’s all right there in black and white, paragraph nine, with cross-references.”

“That… makes sense,” Hermione whispered, still staring off at nothing that could be seen.

“Paragraph ten, and he might be the most genuinely romantic person I’ve ever heard of. Also, he fantasizes about you. Some are quite tame and only concern you achieving peace and happiness. You can bet the rest are a lot sexier.”

“X-rated, even,” Harry added.

Hermione blushed again, involuntarily thinking of Viktor, his hair longer and curling around his eyes as it was in the photo, his face more sharply angled, his biceps considerably larger.

Then she stopped herself short, because she was still eating dinner with friends and going through his letter with a fine-toothed comb.

“Right. Next?” she asked, and as she blinked, she came back. With her came the realization that Viktor quite fancied her.

“Paragraph ten, he’s now fluent in English, and let’s be honest, he writes better letters than we do. One of his parent’s house elves has learned English so you will be comfortable _when you visit his ancestral home._ And he’s asking for a reading list from you Hermione. This is a keeper in so many ways. And in the beginning of the paragraph he says that if he’d known English would be so important to him he would have learned it, when, earlier? No, not generally earlier. By the time he was seventeen. Why is that age important? Oh, wait, it’s the age he spent a year in your company. Was he tongue-tied a lot of the time?”

Hermione smiled sadly and nodded silently.

“Don’t expect him to be when you see him next,” Ginny said with a saucy smile.

“Paragraph eleven, he’s talking about retiring in extremely vague terms. Many variables, he says. Yes, and you’re one of them. Veiled reference to looking forward to being with you.”

Hermione just accepted it.

“Paragraph twelve, and I’m totally disgusted that he’s an athlete, a scholar, a polyglot, _and_ a musician. Marry him, Hermione. You’re the only one who deserves him, and it seems he’s the only one who deserves you. But clearly every time he plays his cello, he thinks of you, and no one else. And a veiled reference to the fact that he has no other romantic entanglements.”

Hermione just accepted that, too.

“Paragraph thirteen, his life is boring without you in it, and he’s sent you more roses, you lucky cow. Veiled reference to the endurance of his love for you, just add water.”

Hermione nodded, her eyes open in more than one way, now.

“Paragraph fourteen, and we’re drawing to a close now, his heart is breaking for you, all he wants is for you to heal, write back to him, and let him hold you in person, and possibly give you the snog of your life and several children. He signs it ‘with all his heart’.”

Ginny looked up. “This man is **_desperately_ **in love with you, Hermione.” She folded up the pages and handed them back. “I can’t believe you’ve had this in your hands all summer long and still gave Ron all that time to think about something you already knew the answer to.”

“But I didn’t,” Hermione defended. “I actually did have to think about it. I mean, Viktor has been just a friend for so long, and it looked like something was actually going to happen between Ron and me, and I’d imagined _that_ for so long.” She paused and looked at the letter in her hand. “And then I got this letter. And I was so confused,” she whispered. “I didn’t have it all out like you did, but… he made me _feel._ And it’s been hard to feel,” she ended, almost inaudibly.

Harry spoke then, after getting up and coming around the table, standing behind her and putting his arms around her shoulders, leaning his head on hers. “If it had been Viktor you kissed right after the final battle, if it had been Viktor who held you in his arms and spoke softly to you right then, how would you have spent this summer, Hermione?”

She groaned. There was no question at all in her mind. “Probably in his bed. But that’s not necessarily the best way to make life-long decisions.”

Harry still held her, with his head on top of hers.

Ginny spoke up this time. “No, but it does stand in stark contrast from how you spent your summer when it was Ron you kissed, and Ron you held. And you’ve spent the whole summer considering it. And you don’t want Ron. Do you want Viktor?”

The answer was instant and obvious.

“Short-term, definitely. Long-term, I have no idea. And it’s clear to me now… _oh, God._ It’s clear to me now he’s been planning for the long-term.”

“This man is _desperately_ in love with you and you need to write back to him.”

Hermione sighed. It was a sigh of sadness. And a sigh of guilt. “Yes,” she said, to all of it.

* * *

 _August 30, 199_  
_ _The Granger Residence  
_ _London, UK_

_Dear Viktor,_

_I’m so sorry its taken me months to respond to you. I have excuses but none of them are very good. I will say I had a lot to think about, and some of that involved you._

_Thank you for the letter, and thank you for the roses. I will bring them very carefully, by hand if necessary, to school with me, and they will remind me of the peace I find with you. Your letter will go with all your others, to be reread at night when the darkness is thick and the nightmares are unavoidable. This letter was particularly beautiful, and like the roses I will keep it close to me at all costs._

_I don’t wish for your heart to ache, you know. But I’m honored to be the subject of your prayers. It may be the reason I survived, against all odds, and when others better than I fell._

_I should write more, make this a longer letter, but I get so tired at night now, and the blood replenishers never quite manage against the cursed wound on my arm. And it was only at dinner tonight that I realized, well, many things. My own mind, one of them. And I’d waited so long, I didn’t want to wait any longer._

_I’m sorry if I’m being obtuse. I do wish, in a way, that I could just speak to you and be near you, but I’ve gone and wasted that opportunity while I was trying to figure some things out._

_Oh, God, I can’t end a letter like this. Let me give you something bright and lovely. I saw your picture in the paper the other day. You were scowling, of course, but I could see past that. Your hair has grown out, and it was curling entrancingly around your dark eyes. You were posed with a broom over your shoulders in a rather tight shirt with no sleeves, and your hands hanging just so over the broom. Your arms were thick with muscles, thicker than I remembered, and your chest broader. Your face was more angular, as if all the remnants of your childhood were entirely gone. Mine are, too, in my own way. I’d lost a lot of weight but not for any good reason except starvation. I’ve put weight back on again, but it’s different now, somehow. I look in the mirror and I don’t see a child anymore. I can’t remember the last time I looked into my own eyes and saw a child, but now even the last remnants are gone._

_I’ve just reread that, and it doesn’t sound terribly lighthearted, but my point is that while the remnants of our childhoods are gone, it sounds like you still want me in your life, and that brings me genuine happiness, Viktor. And I very much want you in my life. I look forward to experiencing first hand how you have changed, and how you have only deepened and grown from the boy I knew once._

_There is so much more to say, and I wish I could say it now, but some of it I have no idea how to say and so I will hide behind the need to sleep. And you may trust, dearest Vitya, that when I wake in terror in the night, it will be your words in your remembered voice that bring me a shred of peace. And now, your flowers, too. Eleven are in a vase on my desk. One stands by my bedside, a small fragrant bulwark against the darkness._

_Love,  
_ _Hermione_

_PS - the point I was actually trying to make by describing the photo of you is that you mentioned several times wanting to hold me, or imagining holding me, and the photo gave me an updated idea of what it might be like. And so I find that picture of you a bright and lovely thought. What will it be like to be held by those arms, against that chest? To see that scowl soften, one eyebrow quirk and a slow smile form all the way to those dark eyes? No hearts that ache, here, just arms that hold and lips that sigh in safety, contentment, and pleasure. And that is a bright and lovely thought, for me. (And if you don’t like the idea of me drooling over your promo shots, kindly refrain from looking edible in them.)_

_PPS - J.R.R. Tolkien, author of_ _The Hobbit_ _. Jane Austen, author of_ _Pride and Prejudice_ _. Terry Pratchett, author of_ _Wyrd Sisters_ _. All have written far more than this, but these are the places to begin._

_PPPS - I’m sorry this letter isn’t longer. I’m sorry I made you wait so long for a response. I’m sorry for so many things, really, and wish I could change so much, and I can do nothing of the kind. If you’re not dreadfully upset with me, write me back at Hogwarts. And if you are dreadfully upset with me, Viktor, I’m so sorry, for everything. You are kind and good and deserve so much better than broken, cursed people like me._

_Fuck. I’ve gone and ruined the end of the letter again. So be it. I’ll post it tomorrow regardless and by the time you read it, I’ll be in Scotland again. So be it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) Hope you enjoyed today's chapter. What did you like most, if you don't mind me asking? As I reread it to my husband and beta in all things, we both have to take breaks and just sigh. We like it that much.


	3. Chapter 2: Wherein a single meeting changes everything.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Narcissa Black Malfoy has tea at Grimmauld Place. A field trip is taken afterwards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hurrah! Another day, another chapter. And plot. Avast, me hearties! The plot has been spotted!

Harry had arranged that tea be in place with his surly elf vacated five minutes before his visitor was to arrive. He’d lost the coin toss between wearing jeans and jumpers and their school uniform. He and Hermione both had a prefect pin on their sweater. They, it turned out, would be the two eighth year prefects.

Hermione had coached him on how to answer the door, invite her in, take her coat. Similarly she had coached him on how to help her back into her coat on the way out, and he’d been practicing on Ginny for the last week, so when it actually happened it was quite smooth indeed. And now Ginny had grown fond of him always helping her to put her coat on.

Ginny poured the tea when they were all seated and it was quiet until the older woman spoke.

“Thank you for allowing me to pay a call on you. I quite appreciate your forbearance.”

“We found your letters very interesting, Lady Malfoy,” Harry replied mildly before drinking some tea while properly holding the saucer just so. This politeness thing wasn’t so hard, and it wasn’t so bad, either.

“You are too kind. But won’t you all call me Narcissa, please.”

“Alright,” Harry said, feeling awkward.

“And please use our first names as well,” Hermione chimed in.

“I go by Ginny, please. Only my mother calls me Ginerva, and then only when she’s angry,” his wife - his wife! - said calmly.

“I will, thank you.”

Everyone took a drink of their tea and an uncomfortable silence descended.

“It is never a pleasant thing to discuss debts, and among such new acquaintances it must be doubly so. But from my invitation I gather you are interested in hearing the ideas I’ve had to begin a preliminary repayment?”

“That’s about the size of it,” Harry replied, realizing he wasn’t really making this any easier on her, and honestly, not minding. He was still being polite, though.

“Well, first to you, Harry. Do I rightly assume that you understand the depth of the favor I owe?”

“Let’s pretend I don’t.”

She smiled fleetingly. “Well, it is clear to me that I owe you my life, and the life of my son. Though no life debt was formed between us at the time, due to the circumstances of war, it is clear to me that I would be wasting away in Azkaban in a cell between my husband and my son right now, with all the trappings of my life forfeit, which unfortunately would have included this house, had you not participated in my turncoat activities that day.”

“What do you mean, ‘this house’?” asked Ginny.

“I am the last heir to the Black name, despite the fact that I have married outside of the family.”

“But this house belonged to Sirius…” Harry trailed off, and it hurt, thinking of his godfather.

“No, he was disowned long ago, and after Regulus died, well, it came to us. The three sisters. But my sister Andromeda was also later disowned. And now of course Bellatrix is finally dead. Her husband Rabastan inherits nothing, and the old laws say that it reverts to family, before it can be claimed by victims or auctioned off.”

“So it’s been yours all this time?” Hermione asked.

“Yes, though I have neglected it through a mixed path of chance and luck.”

“I’d say. It was the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix during the war,” Ginny remarked.

Narcissa smiled, and it was more than the polite small thing she had given before. It was wry and full of humor Harry hadn’t expected. “Well. I’m glad I was neglectful, then. But I digress. I would like to clean up this house and give it to you, Harry, as a beginning repayment of my debt. It by no means satisfies the requirement, but it makes a solid beginning, if that is something you would accept.”

Harry glanced at Ginny, then at Hermione. But still he thought the answer was obvious.

“Yes, I think that would be an excellent start. Good luck getting Kreacher to cooperate,” he added.

“Kreacher?” Narcissa called out, her tone gentle and conciliatory.

“Miss Cissy!” the elf called as soon as he popped into the room. He threw himself to the ground and rubbed his face on her shoes.

“Dear Kreacher,” she said, leaning down and petting the top of his head as if he were a pet. “I haven’t had the opportunity to tell you how sorry I was to hear about the death of Regulus. I know he was very special to you.”

The old elf started weeping, audibly.

“I’m sorry I stayed away so long. My husband forbade me to return, but he no longer has the power of decision over me.”

Harry sat, stunned, and wondered what the hell kind of marriage that was.

“Miss Cissy is the last Black!” Kreacher wailed, still face down on her shoes.

For a time all three just watched the scene with wide eyes. Narcissa Malfoy, cold elegance dissipated, simply stroked and comforted the mourning house elf at her feet.

“I will no longer avoid my responsibility as the last Black,” she said quietly. “Not to this house, and not to you. Now, I have a few questions to put to you. Do you feel up to answering them, my old friend?”

Kreacher sniffed and blew his nose on his pillowcase. Still, he looked up and sat back on his heels, clearly more comfortable than he’d ever been in anyone else’s presence. Including Sirius’.

“I would like to tidy up this home properly. Do you desire to help me, or would you prefer I relocate you to Malfoy Manor where you might be more comfortable?”

“No, Miss Cissy, I will stay and help.”

“You know I have very high standards, Kreacher. I always did like things a bit cleaner and a bit lighter than Auntie Wallie, may she rest in peace.”

“Yes, Miss. Clean and light can be very nice, too, Miss.”

Narcissa smiled gently at the elf, the corners of her eyes crinkling at him. “Well, then. That’s excellent. I shall be very grateful for your help. For myself, and my own elves, well, we just don’t know this house like you do. I know we’ll be able to do a much better job with you on our side.”

Kreacher sat up taller. 

The three watched an expert at work, mesmerized. 

“Now this may be a difficult question, but life is what it is, and sometimes change must happen. I intend to give this house as a gift to some newlyweds. Would you prefer to stay on and serve them, or would you prefer when we are finished tidying up, to come back home with me?”

Kreacher tilted his head, though no one else could see his expression clearly. Finally he said, “Miss Cissy will give the house to her son and his lady?”

“No, Kreacher, my dear. I have debts of honor to pay. Someone saved my life, and the life of my son. It didn’t create a life debt, due to other circumstances, but it is a debt all the same. And this house is within my gift, and so I have offered it, and they have accepted. It does not repay entirely, but it is a beginning. And when we are done tidying, it will be a very fine beginning, indeed.”

“Is Miss giving it to _him?”_ Kreacher asked, his voice turning nasty once again, as his head jerked back toward where Harry was sitting.

She reached out and gently took his hand. “He saved my life, Kreacher. And more important than that, _he saved Draco’s life,”_ she added, her eyes going wide, her tone intense. Then the moment passed. “I know he is not your favorite, but did you not like Auntie Wallie more than Uncle Orion? And did you not love your Regulus, and loathe Cousin Sirius? I know you preferred me over Bella and Andy. Perhaps you will come to love and respect his wife, and that will make serving him a more reasonable affair.”

Kreacher snorted.

“What is it, my friend?”

“She has red hair,” he muttered.

Narcissa laughed, and it was like a rainbow in the room. There was no scorn in the sound, no coldness, just light and joy. “And I have white hair! And Regulus had black. And Auntie Wallie brown, though we both know she dyed it. I should say you’re due for red, next.”

“She is rude,” he muttered, mustering a new defence. Harry put one hand over his wife’s forearm, just in case her temper decided to show.

“Ah,” Narcissa said, nodding slowly. “That is a difficulty.” After a moment of what looked like contemplation, but just a touch too dramatic, she asked a question. “And your own behavior was beyond reproach, of course? For then you would indeed be the injured party.”

“No, Miss Cissy,” came the quiet reply.

“Oh. I see,” she said, her tone just a shade colder. “Other considerations?”

“Terrible friends. Bad people.” And here Kreacher looked all the way around and glared at Hermione.

“Do you mean, in particular, Miss Granger, Kreacher? And perhaps the fact that she is a muggle-born witch?”

“Yes!” Kreacher nearly shouted, his head whipping back around, but blissfully he said no more.

“But she is a good and kindly witch, with great powers, and quite benevolent views on house elves.”

There was silence in the room. Finally Kreacher spoke. His voice was filled with loathing. “Miss Cissy _likes_ the Granger?”

“I have been honored to make her acquaintance today, which she was kind enough to grant at my request. Further, I owe _her_ a debt as well. And as a person, yes. I like her very well, indeed. I am grateful to now be indebted to such honorable and kindly people, Kreacher. This has not always been the case, and my life has been very hard because of it."

Kreacher slumped back down on his heels. “Life is bad, Miss Cissy. Life is very bad,” he muttered.

She returned to stroking his head gently. “Happiness is not found outside of ourselves, Kreacher. It is found within. And we must make what we can of the opportunities afforded us. For there will always be opportunities, if we can but recognize them for what they truly are. Cousin Regulus taught me that.”

And again Kreacher crumpled in on himself and began to quietly sob.

And over it, Hermione’s soft voice floated. “Regulus Black defected before his death. He stole one of the Dark Lord’s horcruxes, thinking it was the only one, and charged Kreacher with destroying it, not realizing that was out of his ability to do. So instead he kept it safe, a treasured momento of his dearest friend. He gave it up to us when we asked, and we were able to destroy it eventually. But we too, carried it for a long time, though not anywhere as long as Kreacher did. It, like all the horcruxes, twists the mind of the bearer. It was a terrible thing to bear only for a moment, to say nothing of any longer. I honestly don’t know how Kreacher survived it. We almost didn’t.”

Narcissa nodded at Hermione then looked down again, still stroking the house elf’s head. “It sounds like you have shared some of your pain with them, and they know a piece of what you feel. Such things are meant to bring us closer to one another. No one else can know the burden of what you and they have shared. It is a precious thing, Kreacher, to share someone’s pain. Not many are given that gift.

“Now, why don’t you dry your eyes and wash your face and go get some fresh air. Visit one of the other Black properties. You will be called when you are needed again. And the fresh air may clear away some of the cobwebs.”

“Yes, Miss Cissy,” he warbled, and then left with a pop of air.

After a careful and deep exhale, call-me-Narcissa,-please remarked dryly, “Well. That was long overdue.”

Ginny poured out some more tea and everyone took a moment to drink it. The silence was quite different than before.

“I shall confer with you by owl, if I may while you are at school regarding colors, textures, and progress, or shall I defer such conversations to your wife?”

Harry looked at Ginny. “Uh, both of us, I think. We’ll discuss and decide together.”

Ginny nodded silently and laid her hand briefly on his knee, before returning to her tea.

“Unless you have any questions, I would turn my attention to my debt to Hermione.”

Harry silently shook his head.

She set down her tea cup and saucer and Harry saw that Hermione silently followed suit, next to him on the couch.

“Hermione, I am so dreadfully sorry for what befell you at the hands of my sister, lo these months ago.” Harry watched her eyes start to shine like she might cry, though her voice did not waver. “I have two thoughts that might begin and end the debt owed to you by the House of Black. And in my eyes, nothing short of this effort would be sufficient.”

“Go on,” Hermione said gently.

“First, I would like to offer you this,” she said, and then reached to her small purse and pulled out a small jar of what would probably be ointment. She put it on the table between them. “It is a terrible remedy for a terribly cursed blade, but it does work. It cannot be applied topically, nor ingested. Once daily for eight days, you must coat a new blade, and clean and recoat for every inch of work. Every day the blade must be new, and afterwards should be vanished. If you reopen the wound with the coated blade in just such a manner for the proscribed length of time, and then wrap and dress it as you might an ordinary wound, it will finally heal. During the treatment, you should use no spells or potions on your person, for they will interfere. You may, of course, cast and brew as you like during that time.”

“That’s awful,” Ginny whispered.

“It was a Black curse, and a Black remedy. They are awful on each side,” Narcissa responded.

Hermione exhaled audibly. “But in eight days it will be done.” She reached out and took the jar of ointment, pulling it closer to her on the table that held the tea things. “I’ll take it. Thank you. Is the second thing as awful and wonderful as the first?”

Narcissa smiled, but it wasn’t a happy smile. “You may think so.” She picked up her teacup and drank some before placing it back on the table, and folding her hands in her lap. “The particular way in which my sister wronged you, what she chose to carve into your arm, and the great deal of sentiment behind it is what I would like to address, and in the most powerful way I know how, to make the boldest statement I am capable of making, which would, coincidentally, cause my sister to turn in her grave.”

“That sounds exciting on all accounts,” Ginny remarked.

“Indeed,” Narcissa agreed with a small smile. She turned her gaze to Hermione. “I would like to name you, Hermione, my heir, _the_ heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, and provide you with all of the rights and responsibilities therein.”

Harry looked at Hermione, and then back at Ginny, and then at Hermione again. And he thought being given a house was a big deal. Hell, cleaning up Grimmauld Place _successfully_ would be a big deal. This was somewhat larger, however.

Hermione, when she spoke, did not stammer. She only spoke very slowly. “What about Draco?”

“He is the firstborn, and a man, and so according to the old laws, heir to his father’s name, properties, and responsibilities. Had we a second child, I might have named that child heir. And I might not have. It is a woman’s prerogative to name an heir when there is anything to inherit, and there is no clear rule saying how it must be done. You, Hermione, are brave, noble, cunning, ambitious, loyal, hardworking, intelligent, and wise. We do a disservice to our whole world when we only look to a person’s genealogy to determine their merit. But for those who do, if you choose to accept this, it will give them a reason to listen to you, to allow you to make changes in our world, changes that are perhaps long overdue. Will you accept?”

Harry wasn’t breathing.

“Yes,” Hermione breathed out softly.

“Will you accompany me to Gringotts to have the proceedings witnessed? Harry and Ginny may join us, of course.”

“Yes, Narcissa, I will.”

“Then let us finish our tea and make our preparations to leave.”

In short order they were in the front hall and Narcissa had called to her two house elves named Pampy and Tampy. They looked identical.

“My dears, we have important business to transact at Gringotts,” she said, looking down at the twin elves. “Will you accompany us?”

And then they were all there.

* * *

Elf travel was _so much better_ than apparating, which had always left Hermione terribly nauseous. And despite the fact that she had just been here yesterday, changing bank notes into galleons, ever since the break in and subsequent break out, Hermoine was quite nervous around the goblins.

“Thank you,” she said, directing her gratitude to the two elves near her, not knowing which one had done it. One of them, Hermione had no idea which it was, silently nodded at her.

Narcissa led them and since it was one of the busiest times of the year, they all waited silently in line, ignoring the stares and whispers from others also in line.

Hermione stood quietly for a while, next to Narcissa, with the two elves behind them, and Harry and Ginny behind _them._ Was there anything she could say in public to this woman?

“I see you are made prefect again this year. Congratulations,” Narcissa said.

“Thank you,” Hermione said, still feeling the odd pang for missing out on being Head Girl. Ah well. The horcruxes were far more important, and she really couldn’t believe it was still bothering her. “I studied as much as I could, last year, such as it was. I had all my books, but of course there was neither instruction, nor practical application for most things.”

“Did you?” asked Narcissa with a small smile on her face. They shuffled forward a few feet as the line got marginally shorter. “Well done. It is a relief to see one taking one’s studies to heart. Which are your areas of particular interest?”

“Well,” Hermione sighed, “I quite like arithmancy and ancient runes, potions is terribly useful, of course, as is transfiguration, but charms and defence are all I’ve done much with in the past year.”

“So, you have a head for numbers?”

Hermione nodded.

“That will come in useful, I am sure.”

And then there was silence. It didn’t seem like Harry or Ginny were speaking either, though sometimes it seemed like they could share each other’s thoughts. After a while, Hermione spoke.

“Will Draco be returning to Hogwarts?”

“He has decided instead to take up the responsibilities as the head of House Malfoy, and I think it is the right decision for him. We haven’t many holdings in here in England, but there are several abroad that must be tended to, and business managers can only do so much without direction.”

“Have the Blacks many holdings?” Hermoine asked quietly, aware of eavesdroppers.

“It is fitting that they should,” she answered, and Hermoine noticed it was neither a yes nor a no, and Hermoine thought again about eavesdroppers, and too, about how many years the Black family business managers had been managing things on their own without oversight, for whatever holdings there were. Or were left, at this point.

Oh, dear. What exactly was she inheriting? Narcissa had said something earlier, inviting Kreacher to one of the _other_ Black properties. So there was that, at least. But were there any investments? Any ventures actually owned outright? Was there anything like income, and were there any savings, or was this just another bankrupt noble house in Britain that Hermione had joined?

No, wait. She’d seen the inside of the Black Vault. And had left it rather a mess, and freed the dragon guarding it…

Well, unless it was all illusion and duplication, there was still wealth to the Black family name. Though a clean-out of all dark and cursed items would be in the offing at some point.

Well, at least the name still existed. Possibly influence as well. And if there was nothing else after the clean out, well, then so be it.

After that, they waited in line in utter silence.

In the due course of time, they were at the head of the line and finally waved over by the next ready goblin.

“Countess Black, what service may I perform for you today?” she was greeted _cordially_ by a goblin. Now Hermione had seen everything, and it turned out that Goblins Were Snobs. And that explained a lot.

“I am prepared to name my heir.”

“I shall gather the requirements, if you will follow me to a witnessing chamber?”

They did. Going under the waterfall was something Hermione hadn’t been prepared for, but her clothes dried almost instantly though her hair, she was sure, looked somewhat worse for being doused in Thief’s Downfall.

They sat in chairs around a table and a very large, very well-armed goblin guard with earplugs in stood in the corner. They waited, and after a while were joined again by the clerk and another goblin, somewhat older and crustier, and likely more important.

“I am Ragar, Countess Black, and I am prepared to oversee what must be done. Name your witnesses.”

“In the rank of elf, I name Pampy and Tampy, daughters of Kreacher of the House of Black. In the rank of wizard, I name Mr. Harry Potter and Mrs. Ginerva Potter, nee Weasley.” She said, mincing words which Hermione was certain the goblins appreciated.

“In the rank of goblin, I name clerk Grivnor, son of Grivnid, son of Griven.”

“Name your heir, Scion of Black.”

“Hermoine Granger, of muggle parents.”

Ragar stared wordlessly for sometime.

“Give him your left hand, palm up,” Narcissa said quietly to Hermione.

He took it and took the knife off the table, but paused and looked back at Narcissa. “She is _cursed,”_ he said, his voice full of accusation. Of course, that tone was not dissimilar to his other seemingly neutral ones.

“Not for long. I still wish to continue,” Narcissa replied.

Ragar stabbed the tip of her finger and pressed it to a piece of paper, or possibly parchment, and then released it. He picked up the paper and watched it, for what, Hermione had no idea.

Narcissa leaned closer again to whisper near Hermione’s ear. “The goblins keep the most honest and detailed records of wizard genealogy, though they do not often share the information. It is to ensure excellent service to their clients, of course. Ragar is now checking your genealogy to see where the most recent four squibs are in your tree. Squibs and their descendants cannot inherit under normal circumstances, of course, but it will be interesting nonetheless.

“Bennoit,” Ragar muttered, and Hermione looked up at her great-grandmother’s maiden name. Well, that was interesting.

“Pratchett,” he said again, after a long moment. “Fielding.” And then there was so much silence that Hermione wondered if three was all she was going to get.

“Pendragon,” Ragar intoned.

Ginny gasped and when Hermione looked quickly to Narcissa, the older woman’s eyes were blown wide. “Well, that _is_ interesting.”

“Do you wish to continue with the naming?” the head goblin asked.

“I require a moment to confer in private with Miss Granger and her advisors.”

“You may have this room for one half hour, after which we will continue, or call this meeting to its end. I will return then.”

All three goblins left the room. The humans sat at the tables. The elves conferred privately in a far corner. Hermione pulled her somewhat worn but still quite sparkly beaded purse out of her trusty satchel, and then reached in all the way to her elbow in order to pull out some chocolate. She quickly began offering it around.

“Oh, good.”

“Thank God.”

“I will, thank you.”

After she ate two entire squares she delicately licked her fingers and looked over to… her patroness? Whomever she was, she was likely the only person in the room who understood exactly what was going on. Ginny might have a clue, but probably not the whole picture.

“Narcissa. What is going on,” she asked, though it came out as more of a statement.

“If you were a man, you would have a difficult decision to make. As you are a woman, you have a great deal more freedom and flexibility. You may, as it were, have your cake and eat it, too. I suggest no matter what, we continue on with the naming. It will do us both good, and give reason for the discovery, and prevent ill will and perhaps another wizarding war with the Goblin Nation.”

“I vote no more war,” Harry piped up, though he said nothing more.

“The most important ancestor you have that we are aware of is your Pendragon ancestor.”

“Quite,” Hermione said, and took another square of chocolate before putting the rest on the table for anyone to help themselves.

“There is a great deal more to this than we can discuss at present, so I shall limit myself to the most pertinent parts for the moment. I will make myself available to whatever degree you wish for any further discussion. Are we agreed?”

Hermione nodded silently.

“Very well. There are two hinges on which this unfolding drama occurs. The first pivot point is that because you are a woman, you may hold any number of linages, indeed, women always bear at least two, while men only bear one. The reasons for this are interesting, perhaps, but esoteric and not worth our time at the present. The second pivot point is that while non magical descendants are not eligible heirs in any sense, magical heirs of squibs are, but only under certain very specific circumstances. The most usual is when the line descending from the squib in question still bears the family name in any form. If the family name is absent but a connection can be proven, as it was today, there are three ways for the lineage to continue. First, if the person in question is the child of magical parents. Second, if the person in question has been adopted by magical parents. Third, if the person in question has been named heir of another line. This means that if you were a man, one of your children could inherit the Pendragon lineage, and you would be regent of it until such time as they were of age.”

“But… because I’m a woman, I can be the, what would it be, the Scion of Pendragon, rather than the Regent? And the heir of Black at the same time?”

“My _God,_ Hermione,” Ginny breathed. “Your pedigree is better than the Queen’s.”

“Yes, but let us see how it was descended,” Narcissa said, having gotten herself another square of chocolate, and then dragging the parchment with Hermione’s family tree over to look. Harry and Ginny got up and came around the table to look over their shoulders. “They won’t let us take this out of Gringotts, but they will give us a notarized document naming the details of it we wish named,” she said as she studied the paper intensely. “Oh… my… _well.”_ She pointed and drew her finger along the line. “You see this here? Always coming in from the left? This is a direct line, through the mother. That’s a very good sign. I highly recommend you pass on the Pendragon legacy to one or all of your daughters, Hermione.”

“I haven’t got any daughters,” she said in a small voice.

“Take a deep breath, my dear,” Narcissa said, and Hermione was grateful for the hand on her shoulder. Right now she missed her parents so keenly it was hard to keep it all in. But they were gone, truly gone from her and she wouldn’t ever get them back. And she wondered about that. The Wilkins had never had a child and had never wanted a child. And that was, maybe, for the best.

She did as Narcissa bid her and breathed deeply.

“The two most important questions for our time here are this. Do you still want to go through with this?”

Hermione nodded and was grateful for Harry leaning down over her shoulder and wrapping his arms around her, just below her neck. “You’ll still be my favorite know-it-all,” he murmured to her and kissed her head above the ear.

“The second question is what will you do about your name. It must reflect your new lineages in some way.”

“My parents are… gone,” Hermione said quietly. “For their own safety, I put them into hiding and-” She paused before just saying it. Yes, it was a punishable offence. And yes, at this point she trusted Narcissa with the information, whether she ought to or not. “I obliviated them of all knowledge that they ever had a daughter.”

Somehow it was so much worse to say it out loud, and Hermione couldn’t help but cry, though she’d managed to keep it all in for so long. A year, really.

“Oh, my sweet child,” Narcissa said, clutching her hand tightly. “I will help you mend that fence when we come to it, as soon as we may. Have no fear from me. We’ve all done drastic things to save the people we love. For now we must address your name. I suggest that in the muggle world, for whatever such official proceedings you may have there, you keep the name you have just as you have it. And for the wizarding world, you simply add on Pendragon and Black in some order. I would suggest Black, then Pendragon. In the wizarding world, anyway, it would still be acceptable to address you as Miss Granger, if you wish it to be so, or the Viscountess Black, as you would be as my heir, or if you like to lord it over people, Her Royal Majesty the Pendragon Queen Regent of Avalon.”

“ _And_ she’s dated Victor Krum,” Ginny muttered good naturedly from her other side, rubbing her free arm and blessedly putting it in the past tense, revealing nothing of last night’s conversation.

In a quiet, quavery voice, Hermione spoke. “Hermione Jean Granger Black Pendragon.”

“You’ve got a title and a bag of holding,” Harry said, his arms still around the top of her torso. “Now all you need is a quest.”

Hermione only squeaked.

* * *

It was two hours before they left the bank. There was rigamarole, blood binding, a search for debts and debtors (none listed), the handing over of many, many ledgers, a signing of signature slips for credit at vendors, and a visit to the vaults. They had visited the Black vault first and found it miraculously clean. Hermione and Harry kept admirably straight faces, Ginny thought. From that vault _Narcissa_ \- oh, to be on a first name basis with the Malfoy matriarch, what a riot! - instructed Hermione to take two small jewelry boxes, three large books, and enough galleons to make Ginny somewhat breathless, before she counted to ten and fixed her head back on. They visited the Pendragon vault, which was even further down, which Ginny frankly hadn’t thought possible. And she wondered, briefly, what it would be like.

To open the vault, Hermione had to shed blood again. The goblin Grivnor stabbed her finger and impatiently gestured to a blank stone wall as the end of the path that was at the foot of a steep stair that was at the end of the cart tracks. There was no indication that it _was_ a vault. No dragon guarding it. No door with so many locks and fortified hinges. Nothing. Just rock.

After a moment of quite reasonable hesitation, Hermione pressed her fingertip to the wall. A wall which very much seemed to be there.

Ginny watched as the red from her blood faded from the rock when Hermione stepped back. The figure of a large two-legged dragon - a Welsh Drake, perhaps? Charlie would know - appeared on the rock face well above their heads and began moving, as if it were a painting of some kind. Ginny watched, mesmerized, as the drake seemed to take a deep breath, lean down, and then as if painted on the rock, just like the dragon, spounts of flame erupted, but for all it just looked like a painting, suddenly the cold underground corridor got very hot indeed. Where the flame was, a hole in the rock began, and soon grew large enough to be something of a door, though it was no graceful archway. The top of the doorway was the outline of the dragon’s breath of fire.

Narcissa drew her wand and silently cast a lumos and quietly urged Hermione to do the same.

The vault was empty.

“Huh.” Oldest wizarding family in Britain, _the_ wizarding family of Britain, and the legacy was exactly squat?

“Go in,” Narcissa whispered. “Make sure.”

Only Hermione did. Ginny watched, her hand clutched around her wand, hardly breathing. Finally when she was out of sight of the doorway, she heard her call out.

“Harry! Gimme a lumos!”

Ginny heard Hermione mutter some charm or another once Harry got to her with a lumos maxima. They both came out together, and Hermione was pushing something into her beaded purse.

“There was a parchment, but it looked so old, I didn’t like to touch it. I made a copy. We can look it over later. That was it. That was the only thing in there.”

The moment they were out of the vault, the goblin clerk put his hand on the rock and it started to close again.

Ginny watched as Narcissa put her left hand on Hermione’s shoulder “Keep it safe, Hermione. Very, _very_ safe. Use every method you know to keep it secret, and better it be destroyed, then in someone else’s hands. You can always return to the vault to make another copy if needed.”

Ginny was listening with half an ear, but she was also watching the vault slowly, slowly close, and watch the Welsh drake make its way down until it was at eye level.

Narcissa continued talking quietly and quickly. “Now, just a quick word. One of the jewelry boxes contains the heir’s ring, which you should wear and use as a seal if you wish. The other jewelry box contains a small locket which is a very special portkey. In an emergency or for desperate need, touch it and say the word _home._ It will take you immediately to me, wherever I am. It is keyed to the master’s ring. This is important to know; The portkey will only work if you are wearing the heir’s ring while you use it, do you understand? Others may come if they are touching the portkey, of course. Read the books when you have time and owl me with any questions you may have.”

“Follow me,” the goblin stated in that way that goblins have, always seeming to be a threat as well as a statement. This one contained the subtext _or I will leave you here to starve._

They followed and Narcissa and Hermione brought up the rear with the elves up front and Harry and Ginny in the middle, slogging up those stairs.

Ginny really hoped their suite wasn’t going to be in a tower. Up and down the two standard flights of stairs at Grimmauld Place was nothing compared to getting to class on time at Hogwarts.

“Is the locket cursed? Because I’ve had enough of that, really.”

“No dear, it is not cursed,” Narcissa said, and Ginny could hear a smile in her voice.

“Can it be used _as_ a locket? Could I put my parents’ pictures in there?”

“I believe so. Test it out with a different set of pictures. If you close it up and open it again and nothing untoward has happened, it should be perfectly safe.”

“Okay. That’s reasonable.”

“Before you send me an owl, any of you, for I look forward to speaking with you, too, Ginny, there is a chapter in the book on secrets that you may wish to read and thoroughly digest. While many of our communications may be nothing more than pillow colors and the proper presentation of financial records, there may at some point be delicate things we wish to discuss and I would not have that open to any who might have the wherewithal to intercept an owl. Likewise, before you read a letter from me, make sure you get through the first three sections of that chapter.”

“We will,” Hermione answered.

“Will you three consent to a meeting with me, perhaps in two weeks? The second Saturday of September?”

“Of course,” Harry said, answering for all.

“No, that won’t be a problem.” Hermione seconded.

“Perhaps we could meet at the Grimmauld townhouse and I could show you the progress I will have made by then.”

“That sounds lovely,” Ginny answered, wondering how quickly Narcissa might be able to make such progress. A damn sight faster than they had when they’d tried to do it a few years ago, without wands. Ugh. Terrible memories. Terrible summer.

“Now, a few more things as we climb. We will receive three notarized copies of the pertinent points of your lineage, one which will go to you. I’ll keep one for my own records, and I’ll deliver one to the Ministry tomorrow, and I’m certain that you will receive any number of communiques from them in the coming months. They will be ambivalent to have the return of their very own monarch, even if that monarch happens to be a decorated war heroine such as yourself. You will have a seat in the Wizengamot, and since you are already of age you should plan to attend each session, or to appoint a proxy. Are you at all familiar with that process?”

“I’ve known the term in other contexts. What does it mean here?”

“A proxy is someone who will cast your vote, who already has a presence on the Wizengamot. You must do it in writing, and you may appoint a proxy for a length of time, only a certain meeting, or only a certain vote. You may designate the way you wish to vote, or leave it to the wisdom of the proxy you have appointed. All of this must be in writing, which will be submitted to the Wizengamot at the beginning of each session. For instance, I will be sending you a blanket proxy which you may use perpetually, should I be unable to attend a meeting, you will vote for the Black family seat as well as Pendragon.”

They were nearly at the top of the stairs.

“Possibly you have realized at this point that you will not be knighted with your compatriots.”

“Well, I suppose it wouldn’t exactly be an elevation,” Hermione replied as they approached the cart and began all squeezing in.

“No, and at some point rather soon it would be you presiding at such ceremonies. That’s one of the reasons the Monarch of the Isles designated a Monarch Regent of Avalon to begin with. But you may possibly be honored by the Queen in some other way. That remains to be seen, but certainly will be something that the Minister may approach you concerning. I would ask to be present for such a meeting, and if you consent, I will make myself available whenever necessary.”

Somehow, _somehow,_ Narcissa was able to speak normally, although slowly, during a Gringotts cart ride.

“Now. Tampy. Pampy. Which of you wishes to serve the Heir of Black?”

There was silence and both house elves peeped over at her, holding the tips of their ears in their hands. One was sitting on the row next to Ginny, and one was sitting just behind, next to Narcissa.

“Would you prefer to both go, together?”

“ _Yes, Mistress! Yes, please!”_ they answered simultaneously.

“Uh…” Ginny heard Hermione dithering behind her. She looked over to her husband and grinned while keeping the ironic laughter in. Harry had to bite his lips to not laugh, and had to half cough to cover the heaving of his chest.

And then the cart whipped them around a corner.

“So be it. Tampy and Pampy, daughters of Kreacher of the Black Family, you will remain Black Family elves and you will serve the Black heir, her household, her family, and her designates until she assigns you to another in the House of Black. You do this of your own free will, and I promise, as the head of Black, that you will have all you need to live a good life. Now. That’s done with. The Viscountess is not used to having house elves, so if she miss-steps, you must help her. Do not let her fall. Do not let her fail. Your primary allegiance is now to her.”

How did she _do_ it? _How did she speak normally with the cart whipping to and fro?_ Merlin! It had to be a special charm. Then Ginny thought about it for a moment. Of _course_ it was a charm. Narcissa Malfoy always looked perfect. Clothes and poise and manners would only go so far with that. But magic got her the rest of the way, and Ginny was intensely curious.

“Now, if you haven’t your own owls, you’ll wish to get your own, for reasons of security. There are spells of protection and calling you can cast over your own, and you wouldn’t wish to use school owls for delicate messages, particularly you, Hermione.”

The cart jerked to a stop and the elves were the first to hop out and offer hands of help to all the humans in the cart. The goblin just looked impatient, Ginny thought. 

They walked in quiet to the large doorway into a hallway that shifted from the rough-hewn of the vault section to the clean-cut stone work of the banking section. Then they walked through the large double doors that a gigantic goblin guard opened for them and into the back of the open foyer of Gringott’s Bank. They walked around the raised podium of the head goblin clerk and back over to their clerk’s desk at his behest.

“Another time, Hermione, we’ll put our copies in the respective vaults, but first we will use them to good effect. Make sure you give yourself a handwritten copy of the document. Do not try to use a duplication spell. You won’t like the goblin’s countercharms.”

Narcissa took three unsealed scrolls from the clerk and thanked him. She handed one to Hermione and put the other two in her own ultra-thin clutch, obviously charmed with a suitable expansion spell.

Damn. Ginny really needed a bag like that. Time to study expansion spells, and maybe get some pointers from Hermione. Hm. Maybe she could make one for Harry for Christmas.

 _Ooo, maybe she could make some for all her brothers for Christmas…_ ‘Yes!’ she thought. ‘Christmas is now in the bag!’

She smiled at her own pun and almost missed Narcissa’s leave-taking. No, she wouldn’t join them for dinner, she had promised that to Draco. Yes, she would owl within the next several days, giving them time to read a chapter or two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I'm thrilled to read your comments and hear what you think of the story in general and the latest chapter in specific.


	4. Chapter 3: Wherein time in Diagon Alley is well spent.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry, Ginny, and Hermione go shopping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! I'm thrilled at the supportive response y'all have offered. I've never been called a unicorn before. Thanks.

“I guess we need owls,” Harry said, a little sad. He’d never wanted to replace Hedwig. Which was silly really, as he had been hampered all summer without his own owl.

“Yes, and I want to go look at the trunk and bag store, nip into the owl post, and then the bookshop,” Hermione added.

“Ugh,” Harry replied. Bookshops and Hermione were excruciating experiences. It was hard to pry her out of one, for one thing.

“Ooo, me, too!” Ginny replied.

“Can I just wait for you somewhere?”

“Mmm, how about this,” Hermione considered. “Um, Tampy, Pampy? Do you two get along with your father, Kreacher?”

“Oh, yes, miss. But we haven’t seen him in a long time.”

“Do you cook well?” she asked her elves.

“Yes, miss. We can cook the French, the German, the Chinese, the Italian, the Northern Indian, the Southern Indian, the Thai, and the American cuisine. Also British.”

“Oooh, Thai,” Ginny said.

“Will you ladies go shopping and convince your father to give up his kitchen to you at 12 Grimmauld Place where Harry and Ginny live, and cook us something wonderful and Thai? We’ll be ready for dinner in two hours. Would that be enough time for you?”

“Oh, yes, miss!” 

“Excellent. I’ll show you to my home after dinner. For all that we’ll be spending just one night there before I’m off to Hogwarts. Do you need money now, or do you have access to credit?”

Harry watched as one of them pulled on a chain around her neck and pulled out a little pendant that had something carved on it. Possibly the Black crest. “I have access, miss!”

“Excellent! Two hours. Come find me in the bookshop if I don’t turn up. Sometimes I lose time in there.”

“Yes, miss! We will come fetch you in two hours, miss! We go now and make dinner.”

And then they were gone. “Hermione,” Harry stated as he put his arms through both his best friend’s arm and his wife’s, “I gotta say. I kind of love house elves. Especially house elves that can make decent Asian food.”

“We’ll never need takeaway again. We’ll just go to Hermione’s house,” Ginny pointed out in a dreamy voice as they went in the direction of the menagerie.

“Also, Harry, I might need a kneazle kitten. I’ve kind of always wanted one,” his wife added.

“Awesome. Hermione’s half-kneazle has been pretty amazing. It’d be cool to see what a full kneazle is capable of. Let’s see if they have a litter. If not, let’s get on a list for the next one, or something.”

“You are the best husband, ever,” Ginny stated.

“That’s my aim,” he replied.

“You two are disgustingly cute, you realize this, yes?” Hermione asked.

“Yes,” both Harry and Ginny replied at the same time.

“Written to Viktor, yet?” Ginny asked. 

“Hmm, yes.”

After a moment, Ginny demanded more details.

Hermione gave in with a sigh. “It was short, I didn’t at all address even half of what he said, I introduced almost no new information, there was very little in the way of innuendo until the very end, and I’m really just testing the waters to see how he is after my two and a half months of silence.”

Hermione sighed and changed the subject. “Everything is about to change. I’m really glad I have you two. And I think I’d like to cultivate Neville as a closer friend, if he’s willing. But I’m just not sure about Ron…”

“Don’t feel you have to hold back on my account,” Ginny said. “I know he’s a git at heart. In a lot of ways he’s like Percy. His first instinct isn’t always kind, even if he is the best strategic thinker I know.”

“I agree, ‘Mione,” Harry added, wanting her to know exactly where he stood. “I didn’t always, but when he left us in the forest… That kind of broke something for me. I’ll accept his help and I’ll offer him help, but I just don’t want to be as close, you know? I don’t want to give him the power to hurt me like that again. Friends, yes. Best friends, no.”

“Something tells me Ronald isn’t going to take this well,” Hermione said as they entered the shop.

“Maybe we’ll be able to put it off for a while. The conversation, I mean. Do we know that he’s returning to Hogwarts? I can’t imagine Molly allowing anything else, honestly,” Harry said, entirely able to imagine just avoiding Ron or significant conversations with him for at least six months at Hogwarts.

“Well, at the beginning of the summer that was his plan, I think,” Hermione said. “I should probably owl him this evening. We had decided to just let things cool between us like I said, and that we would talk again tomorrow on the train. Except I find I don’t really care to. I have some excellent reading to do, besides a few other projects, and I already know my mind at least concerning him and it’s not changing. So, best to just tell him. And now I am going to have an owl, I should probably use it,” Hermione said.

They gravitated toward the owls, and he and Ginny considered which would be best for the new Potter owl. 

“It doesn’t have to be super impressive, but not one of the tiny ones, either. Now, Hermione’s… her’s should be impressive.”

“Or all black,” Harry muttered, avoiding the Snowy owl.

Hermione gravitated toward the most gigantic owl in the room, the Eurasian Eagle Owl, while Ginny was cooing at the Burrowing Owl which was, admittedly, a fine looking creature.

“I’m calling him Postmaster General,” stated Hermione.

Harry snorted. “Of course you are. I’ll take him back with me, if you want.”

“Excellent. I want a cage and a stand, I think.”

Ginny pointed at the one she favored and asked his opinion. “Just fine. You name it. I’ll go pick out a stand.”

Harry left them to it and took a deep breath, looking around at the other animals. He wandered up to the reptile section and was looking rather aimlessly when he heard someone say, “Look. Another berk gazing longingly at turtles. Ridiculous.”

“Hey,” Harry replied, not looking up before he spoke. When he did look around, there was no one around him who could have said it. Then he looked again.

Well, there were snakes.

“Alright,” he said, addressing them. “Who’s the saucepot, then?”

All the snakes but one seemed to be laughing. The tag on the tank said it was a Black Rat Snake.

“Do you, in fact, eat rats?” Harry asked, looking at the snake who was quietly looking back at him. “Or is your name all talk and no trousers?”

“And what good would trousers do me?” it asked.

“Answer the question, saucepot.”

“Yes, I eat rats,” it said, curling up and raising its head a bit. It was by no means the largest, nor the smallest snake present, but it might be a bit more than a yard long.

“Do you eat kneazle kittens?”

“Sounds tasty.”

“If I said they were off the menu?” Harry asked, crossing his arms over his chest. He liked the saucy snake despite himself. But it wouldn’t do if it was just going to go home and eat Ginny’s new kitten. Whenever it was they got one.

“I might refrain. If it was worth my while.”

“I’d feed you. Give you warm places to be. Intelligent conversation.”

“Is that what you call this, dumbo?”

“Would that be enough to be worth your while?”

“Maybe.”

“No maybes. You promise to eat nothing you shouldn’t, at my discretion not yours, and if you break your promise, I make you into a pair of shoes.”

“Yeah, that’s fair. I don’t break promises, anyway.”

“Then make the promise, saucepot.”

“You gonna take me outta this place then?”

“Yes, if you promise.”

“I promise. No eating things you don’t want me to eat.”

“Excellent. Come here,” Harry said, opening the top of the glass container, and reaching his arm in, fist first. “How is that you have an American accent, anyway?”

“How is it you speak snake?” the creature asked as it wound its way over and around Harry’s arm, looking back once to the other snakes and taunting them with his imminent departure.

“That’s a long story, saucepot,” Harry replied, walking back over to his two favorite women.

“Likewise, berk.”

“I ask for a kitten and you bring me a snake?” Ginny said in greeting.

“Oooh, I like her. Lemme go say hello.”

Harry looked at his new snake. “You will wait to be introduced, and you will act like a gentleman, is that understood?”

“I can see life is going to be dull around you.”

“Saucepot, I wish and hope and pray that life will be dull around me. I generally don’t get my way, so get ready for a life of entirely too much adventure.”

“Hooray!” Saucepot cheered and wound a happy slither across Harry’s shoulders.

“Ginny, I decided I needed a new pet. The prospect of replacing Hedwig was… you know. Tough. So, meet Saucepot. He’s promised not to eat anything he shouldn’t, including kittens, on pain of being made into a pair of shoes by Kreacher.” He turned to the snake on his shoulders. “I’m calling you Saucepot.”

“You’ve been calling me saucepot, dumbo. You think I haven’t noticed?”

“Anyway, Saucepot, meet my wife, Ginny, and my best friend Hermione.”

“How’d you manage to get two fine ladies? And how come I don’t have a nice lady snake to warm my basket, huh? You are gonna get me a basket and put a warming charm on it, right? None of the glass peek-a-boo arrangements, right? A guy’s gotta have his privacy when he’s snoozing, you know. And a pillow in the basket wouldn’t go amiss.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “He deserves his name, but I think we’re going to get along just fine.”

“I wonder if the parseltongue charm is in the new family library I have access to,” Hermione mused, still clearly unwilling to utter certain names in public. “Now that we know it’s not inherently dark, it could be quite interesting to be able to speak with an entire species of animal we can’t speak to now.”

“Look under curses, first,” Ginny muttered.

Harry paused. “Are you okay with this Ginny?”

Ginny stopped and looked at him quietly, just met his eyes until hers crinkled at the sides. “It’s fine,” she finally said, and he knew it was.

* * *

Ginny explained her idea for Christmas presents to Hermione in the owl post office once Harry had left with all the owls, gear, and his new pet snake. The kneazle, alas, would have to wait until there was another litter. However, there was only one other name on the notification list, so they would be given second pick of the litter, which was good enough.

“Yes, I was thinking actually, that I wanted something that was a bit more versatile than this bag, which has taken a bit of a beating, really. I’ve studied the spells, and you have to cast them all in a series for them to stick properly, or you have to build in room for expansion in particular, and there are some bells and whistles that I think I’d like to have. I will say, this was an excellent practice piece.”

“Now, there’s an idea. I could get some smaller cloth bags, simple things, and use them as practice pieces, each one a little different, and I could give those away to the boys and my parents, and then I could do the piece de resistance for Harry.”

“And yourself. After all that, you should make one for yourself as well.”

“Yes, definitely. I quite liked Narcissa’s clutch. I wonder if she has several like that, or if the outside can be charmed to match any outfit.”

Hermione gravitated over to the belt bags. “What about something like that for Harry? It kind of serves as a second pocket, really. They come charmed and regular. I wish it was normal for women to have one, and for women always to be wearing belts, because I’d just as well have one for myself.”

“Why shouldn’t you?” Ginny asked. “Especially if you do enrich it with a set of charms that can change the appearance of the outside. So right now, it’s sturdy as boot leather, but if you’re wearing a ballgown, perhaps it appears to be a barely-there silken purse that drapes at your waist, or around your wrist. Could easily fit into a pocket that way, too.”

Hermione was nodding. “I like it. I like the idea of practice bags, too. I think I’ll get some. I may not give them away, but they’ll be dead useful for packing. I don’t love going about with a trunk. I’m not quite ready to upgrade today, but I think at some point I need to get a decent bit of luggage that will pass in the muggle world, and then do some extensions on it, like Moody’s trunk.”

“But with fewer kidnapped aurors inside?” Ginny snarked.

“Naturally,” Hermione smirked.

They cashed out and had their purchases wrapped and when they had the parcels under their arms they left the store.

“Now, let’s go buy our weight in books,” Hermione said, taking Ginny’s free arm in hers.

Ginny’s smile was a grim one, like a sorceress gearing for battle. “I love learning,” she said in a manner that ought to make anyone who heard slightly afraid. Happily, it was getting on toward the dinner hour and it was only Hermione who heard, and Hermione laughed.

It was kind of a deep laugh, though. And it was more mischievous than comforting.

* * *

Over the summer, Hermione had casually mentioned half a dozen fascinating ideas, melds of the muggle and wizarding world, and all of them were dead useful and so _obvious_ once you thought of them. None of the ideas, so Ginny was aware of, were in current production or use somewhere, and all were quite legit - no illegal charms work necessary. She’d had a quiet conversation with George about helping set her up in business, maybe, if it came to that. And then she’d had a quiet conversation with Hermione.

At first Hermione demurred.

“Look, I’m serious. I don’t want to work at the Ministry, I don’t want to undertake a Mastery, and Quidditch is not a long term option, even if I am picked up by a team. And I’ll be damned if I just live off Harry’s money and not contribute in some meaningful way. And these are amazing ideas, Hermione. Maybe they’re just throwaway things to you, but I’ll do it. And keep the ideas coming! What kind of share would seem fair to you for being the idea generator, and me bringing the rest to fruition? And I’m talking a share of the profits, not a share of the net income before expenses, which might be quite high at different points.”

After much haggling, Ginny was convinced to give Hermione only 10% of the profits, which felt like highway robbery to the younger woman. Well, Hermione would get excellent Christmas and birthday presents from now on, especially if any of the ideas were as marketable and useful as Ginny thought they would be.

And so, Ginny had a definite focus in her reading purchases. Transfiguration and Charms, mostly, but also the _Giant Book of Potions Ingredients Counteractions_ , and a few salient titles from the Ancient Runes section recommended by Hermione. She also got her own copy of _Enough Room_ , and _It Simply Won’t Do_ , the books Hermione told her were the most useful for the Great Bag Project.

Yes. This was going to be a fantastic year. Voldemort was dead. She was married to the best man in the world, and finally she had a best friend who was interesting, inspiring, and wanted more to do with her than to use her for her ability to look fashionable on a budget. And _Seventh Child Innovations_ was about to be born.


	5. Chapter 4: Wherein Hermione writes many letters and receives a few in return.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In my head, this is an epistolary novel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hooray! Enjoyment factor is still high. Thrilling. Mine is as well.

_ August 31, 199_  
_ _ Granger Residence _

_ Dear Headmistress, _

_ I hope this letter finds you well and resting before the onslaught begins tomorrow evening. I’m writing to inform you that some interesting things have occurred to me over this summer. I know you’re quite busy, but I wanted you to know before the Ministry is informed tomorrow. _

_ Details I shall spare for a private conversation, but I had occasion to discover my genealogy at Gringotts, and it proved most interesting. I now have three surnames, each more surprising than the last. I could certainly never be accused of having blood the color of dirt, now. It’s a rather more cerulean shade. _

_ Fully aware of the irony of her situation,  
_ _ Hermione J. Granger B. P., OM _

* * *

_ August 31, 199_  
_ _ Granger Residence _

_ Dear Draco, _

_ This is an olive branch. Do with it what you will. _

_ Really quite sincerely,  
_ _ Hermione _

* * *

_ August 31, 199_  
_ _ Granger Residence _

_ Dear Ron, _

_ I’ve thought a great deal about us over the summer, and I know you have as well. My mind is firmly settled on this, but please note I’m not speaking for you. Just for myself. I do not wish to be in an intimate relationship with you, and if that means we cannot be friends, it will make me sad, but it will not make me change my mind. And if we could be friends and friends alone, I would like that. _

_ Given my decision, I didn’t want to have this out on the Hogwarts Express, which is never truly private. _

_ Whether or not we mutually choose to remain friends, I wish you every happiness. _

_ Sincerely,  
_ _ Hermione _

* * *

Hermione did not think of the several crumpled up lines of ruled paper drafts for all three letters she’d written so far, some of them quite a bit longer than the final draft. Instead she gave clear instructions to her owl, Postmaster General. He was to give Ron and Draco’s letters up to the owl post office, and she had put a few knuts in his tiny leg pouch for just that purpose. Then Postmaster General was to fly to Hogwarts to deliver his letter there, and there he should stay, and Hermione would join him tomorrow evening. And whether or not he had post to deliver in the morning, if he would always join her, she would always have bacon or sausage for him, and might have something for him to deliver, besides.

* * *

_ August 31, 199_  
_ _ Home, still _

_ Dear Mum & Dad, _

_ I know I just wrote the other day, but I couldn’t help but tell you all my news. I had given up hope that I would be able to have you back, your memories restored, and returned to whatever degree you wish to your old lives (I know you daydreamed about living in Australia, but an enforced move is altogether different), but I have just today made an alliance with a person I never thought I would have, and they have in turn promised to help me restore your memories to you. I hadn’t expected to ever share any sort of confidence with this particular person, but all that is changed now. She was the last scion of a noble house, she doesn’t expect to have any more children, and she named me her heir. It’s clear she has multiple reasons for doing this, not least of which is aligning herself firmly and tangibly with me and Harry - she’s also done a very kind and very large thing for him as well, and I’ll tell you more about it, all about it really, in a day or two. I’m still getting my head around all of this, and also, she’s provided a cure to the curse on my arm! But Mum, you’ll never guess. Turns out you and Dad aren’t so muggle after all! You each have two wizarding ancestors, and we’ve all descended from a branch - not always the cadet line, either - where a squib was born. Mum, great grandmother Bennoit was a first generation squib! And Mum, your mother’s mother’s mother’s mother +58 was a descendant of Arthur. It’s like a movie over here. Well, really, it’s been like a movie ever since we found out I was a witch. It just wasn’t always a good movie to be in. I would call it, ‘The Rise and Fall of a Dark Lord: Highschool from Hell.’ It would be just as popular as Buffy: The Vampire Slayer. And you know, it’s quite mad, really. Every hellish experience I’ve had at school - I don’t count minor bullying here, because I really could give as well as I got - all traces back to Tom Riddle’s megalomania. It’s like having Mussolini personally out to get your best friend. A vendetta seven years in the enactment. Minor things. Major things. All just pawns on a chessboard, except you know what happens when the pawn gets too far. It either gets chopped down or becomes an insanely powerful piece. I know you would have been afraid I would be chopped down. And there was that possibility. But Harry needed me as a queen piece and I had to do it. And we did it well, the deed was accomplished, and they’re all getting knighted for it. And for my pains - literally - I’ve become a viscountess, heir to a countess. And strangely enough, the Pendragon lineage, which no one else has at the moment, which I wouldn’t have access to, quite literally, without the pains, well. It’s hard to say. But it’s qualified me for a very strange position I don’t fully understand, though I expect I’ll be forthcoming with details when I find them. But I will apparently have a seat on the Wizengamot, as of tomorrow. _

_ Well, that’s another metaphor to justify what I’ve done to you, except that it rings hollow, like all the other ones. _

_ More soon, and all my love,  
_ _ Hermione _

_ PS - I think I might start dating Viktor again. I tried, ever-so-briefly, dating Ron and that was an abysmal failure for so many reasons. But Viktor? I’m not sure he isn’t practically perfect in every way. Daunting, perhaps. Delicious, definitely. _

* * *

She had warned her house elves - there might be screaming, after all, and she certainly wouldn’t want breakfast right away. Hell, there might be vomiting, and she dare not take anything other than a slight sip of water before it. But of course, once Hermione  _ told  _ the twins, they refused to be anywhere else but by her side, do anything else but help.

They did not ask who had done it. They made no mention of the word itself, or it’s meaning. And once Hermione had accepted that they were determined to help, she was determined to accept them.

At five each morning for the next eight days they would rouse her and have the equipment ready to go: a tray, an empty bowl, a cup of water, a wet cloth, a dry cloth, more bandages and tape, the ointment and one of the new straight blades of the pack of ten Hermione had found in the catch-all drawer in the kitchen. They would be prepared to cast a privacy charm and would banish the blades and the blood afterwards, and let Hermione sleep off the trauma for another hour before she rose for the day.

And the first morning, September 1st, Tampy refused to give her the blade after all else was ready.

“No miss. You cannot do this.”

“Tampy, it must be done, and I’m in pain all the time. Better to start it now.”

“Yes, miss. Tampy knows the curse. Tampy knows the remedy. Tampy will do it.”

Hermione was horrified on her behalf. “No, Tampy. I couldn’t possibly ask you to do that. It’s too much.  _ It’s too much.”  _ Her arm spasmed, as if to emphasize her words.

“Tampy has been asked many things. Far too many things. So Tampy will do this, too.”

Hermione closed her eyes and withdrew her arm farther away from the elf with the blade. There was no bandage on it, so she had to be extra careful. Anything brushing it was a spike of agony. Hell, the  _ air currents  _ hurt.

“No, Tampy. That’s exactly why I  _ can’t  _ ask you to do this. I won’t be the sort of person who makes her elves do all the unpleasant things.”

Hermione opened her eyes to see Tampy shaking - not a nice sight, with someone holding something sharp - and her eyes filled with tears.

“Don’t be mad, miss. You are good, miss. Don’t be mad, miss,” Pampy said from her other side, laying her smaller but long and thin hand on her shoulder. Both were kneeling on either side of her on the bed.

“I’m not mad, Pampy,” Hermione spoke in a gentler tone. All the same, she didn’t take her eyes off the one with the blade. “This is just horrifying work, is all. I wouldn’t ask my best friend to help me, not because he wouldn’t, but because it would add to his nightmares. And I won’t add to yours anymore than I can help.”

“This does not add to nightmares, miss. This makes them go away, miss. Pampy is the elf who made the poison for Miss Bella, miss. Tampy is the elf who made the salve for Mistress Cissy, miss.”

Hermione’s stomach dropped and her eyes closed. The wave of tears came, along with a wave of horror at her loss of control.

And two house elves, one on each side, held her in their arms as she cried for all three of them. And they were very careful of her wound.

“Tampy and Pampy know, miss,” the one of her left said, and Hermione could hear that at this point all three were crying. “We know. Miss Bella tested it on us, miss. Wouldn’t let us heal it until Mistress came and took us away. It will hurt. Pampy had to do Tampy’s. Tampy had to do Pampy’s. Miss will not do her own. No, no. Miss will not do her own, alone. No, no.”

Hermione sniffed, eyes still watering uncontrollably, but at least she could control her breathing. “You both know Bellatrix is dead?”

“Yes, miss. We hung our heads like good elves, miss,” said Tampy.

“But we didn’t cry, miss,” the other said mutinously.

“Would you like me to someday introduce you to the witch who killed her in battle?”

“Ooo, miss might do this? This witch must be a very  _ nice _ witch. A very  _ good _ witch,” Tampy said, and Hermione was just beginning to see some difference in the attitude of the twins.

“But we would not disparage the Black name, miss. Miss Bella was just broken,” Pampy said, and Hermione had to rethink her observations. Clearly she would need their names embroidered on their pillow slips.

Hermione nodded and cleared her throat. “Well, alright. Let’s get this over with then. I’ll do my best not to scream. And thank you both very, very much for helping me. And for confiding in me.”

She stuck out her arm with all the bravery and resignation of her house, shoved her other fist in her mouth to stifle the urge to shriek and simply whined instead while one elf carved into her forearm carefully, earnestly, inch by inch, and the other gently rubbed her back and cooed.

When it was all over, whether she slept or fainted, Hermione wasn’t certain.

One down, seven to go.

* * *

_ September 1, 199_  
_ _ Malfoy Manor _

_ Granger, _

_ But does it have olives on it? _

_ DM _

* * *

_ September 1, 199_  
_ _ Hogwarts Castle _

_ Miss Granger, _

_ Wonders never cease. If you would meet with me at 9pm this evening, I would be quite grateful to be put entirely in the know. The password for the evening is ‘tribulation’. _

_ Hoping you are well,  
_ _ M McGonagall _

* * *

_ September 1, 199_  
_ _ Malfoy Manor _

_ My dear Hermione, _

_ Thank you. It was unexpected, and I am profoundly grateful. _

_ Looking forward to our visit,  
_ _ Narcissa _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this might be the last of the short chapters. After this they start to get hella long. No uniform length, however. Why be predictable?


	6. Chapter 5: Wherein our heroine boards the Hogwarts Express

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione has breakfast and lunch. Bags are packed and plans are made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hurrah! A longer chapter. Thank you for all the lovely comments. I particularly enjoy the ones that point out plot holes that I can then go and fix. And being called a unicorn. I was totally a bamf unicorn at work today, yo.

Hermione shook her head at the letters that had come before she’d gotten down to, quite frankly, a fantastic breakfast, given that the refrigerator was stunningly bare. She’d need to clean it out this morning before she left. It was one of many things on her mental todo list, including shutting up the house as well as she could. She decided to discuss it with the twins, as well.

In a way, Hermione felt more like she was leaving home for the last time, even more so than when she sent her parents off and away. It wasn’t as if she wouldn’t ever come home, of course. It was just that everything was changing so quickly, Hermione knew there were few guarantees, even now that the war was over.

Everything was changing, and her childhood was definitely already gone. 

She decided in the end to pack two more recent pictures of herself and her parents, and two more pictures from early in their marriage. And then Hermione cleaned out her childhood bedroom. She left a few of her less beloved momentos in the hopes that her parents would one day walk back into the room. But everything else was gone. The most beloved was shrunk and put into a special pouch in her trunk. The rest she cared nothing for and things were vanished one by one.

Then Hermione went into her parents bedroom and her breath caught in her throat. She took one of her father’s sweaters, and her mother’s sweatshirt from their shared alma mater. Both items still smelled of her parents, but Hermione held off the tears. She went and finished her packing, instead. 

In her own wardrobe she left only the blue gown she had worn at the Yule Ball. Her mother had wanted to keep that as a momento. In her chest of drawers she kept only her first year Hogwarts uniform, which her mother had also wanted her to keep as a momento. Everything else came. All the books. All the clothes. All the trinkets, all the bits and bobs. In the end she left three things on the bulletin board over her small desk, which was otherwise cleaned out. There was a Gryffindor pennant, a still picture of Harry, Hermione, and Ron that her parents had taken at Platform 9 ¾ three years ago, and a drawing Hermione had done of Hogwarts castle from across the Black Lake. On her pillow she left Mr. Stuffles, her bear.

Then she did several standard cleaning charms, pulling the dust, dirt, dander, and yuck from the walls, carpeting, all flat surfaces, and even the air itself, until it was a compressed ball, which she banished.

Tampy and Pampy had filled a large luncheon basket since Hermione had declined an early lunch before leaving. She did not, however, decline the idea of elf travel directly to the platform.

* * *

She cringed to hear Ron bellowing her name from across the platform. She couldn’t tell anything by his face, but he was steadily weaving toward her. Before she knew what was going on, really, the elves whisked her trunk away, and the luncheon basket, her mother's best crystal vase full of white roses, and Crookshank’s basket telling her they would bespeak the first compartment in the second car for her, and wait for her arrival before going directly to Hogwarts themselves. She was alone when they met, nearly an hour before the train was to leave - it was best, in order to get a compartment of your own.

“Knew you’d be here early,” he said.

Hermione shrugged wordlessly and smiled a half-smile that was not at all happy.

“Oi,” he said, apparently taking in her discomfort. “We’re friends. I got your note. I get it. I’d like to argue, but that’d really just be for the sake of arguing, and that’s probably your point. I realized I could be a right git about this, last night. Kind of wanted to be. And then I thought of Dad, you know? And if he had courted someone before Mum. Would he have been a right git if she’d noticed they weren’t really good for each other? If she’d noticed before him? It’d smart, I’m sure. But he wouldn’t have been a git about it. Not my Dad. And I don’t want to be one, either. So. Friends?”

Hermione smiled, relieved that Ron had taken the summer to somehow grow up. “Friends,” she said, reassuring both of them. The hug was brief but tight and full of meaning.

“Right. I’ll probably ride with Dean and Seamus and them because I know you’ll just read the entire way, but I’ll come and say hello, alright?”

“Do. I have news to share with you, well, both Harry and I do, but mine’s bigger.”

“You marrying Krum after all?” he asked, holding her at arm’s length for a moment.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “No. But I will have some lunch to share. I’ll be opening the basket at one.”

“I’m always on time for food.”

Hermione smiled. “Yes, I recall. More later. Off you go, I’ve got a few things to do and a few people to talk with.”

As he left, Hermione went over to a news stand and bought a copy of the Prophet and the Quibbler, a six pack of fizzy drinks they never seemed to sell on the train, and a large bag of kettle corn. She noticed, as she was cashing out a little placard advertising that she could buy a home-delivery subscription to each publication right at the stand, and did so, paying for a year in advance.

Everything but the large bag of kettle corn fit into her beaded purse, and she considered again the charms she wanted to experiment with.

One that would change the color and texture of the outer bag.

One that would widen the lip to accommodate larger items.

One that would allow you to call an item in the bag to you, a retrieval without a wand or wandless accio.

One that would lightly suspend fragile items off to the side, and allow heavy non-fragile items drop to the bottom.

One that would mask or lighten the weight of items emplaced.

One that would allow no other than the emplacer or the owner to remove an item.

One that would allow the bag not to be stolen, though that would be tricky and interesting.

One that would allow the bag’s knotted cord to untie when touched by the owner in a certain way, and retie when touched differently.

One that would allow much more space within the bag.

And of course all the charms had to be placed and  _ sealed  _ before the bag was in use, or one misplaced or well-placed finite would undo everything. And once the bag was sealed, no further magic could affect it, ever.

Hermione wasn’t sure why that technique wasn’t ever used in armor. It would be invaluable, to put a few well-placed charms on a piece, and then have it be immune to anything, including an unforgivable. After all, a crucio didn’t have to hit your skin to affect you. Aiming at your clothes worked just fine for the body beneath them. Hm. She’d have to mention that to Ginny, to add to her collection of odd ideas. Because if it worked, it sure would have been helpful in the last war. Unless of course everyone on each side had it, in which case it would only ensure an escalation of weaponry.

Hermione sighed inwardly at all thoughts of war and changed her focus. She sat on a bench and slowly ate her popcorn, watching as people arrived, and watching how they acted. The little firsties were rather adorable, and you could clearly tell which parents were muggles.

Something needed to be done about that, she considered. Even muggles weren’t really all just muggles. Some of them were squibs, though perhaps there should be an entirely different sort of term for everything, something that wasn’t derogatory. After all, a squib was really a firecracker that refused to go off, wasn’t it? Something that didn’t work? Calling a person a squib was… well, it was terrible, really. But the goblins knew and knew clearly that each muggle born witch or wizard was the product of four wizarding families finally coming back together, through their non-magical progeny. And the goblins wouldn’t openly share what they knew, because it was all about client privacy with them.

Hermione wondered about that. Could a client simply request a genealogy test? If they could, well, all non-magical parents were clients of Gringotts. It’s how they paid for uniforms and supplies in Diagon Alley.

And if there could be some incentive for them to do it, and openly share the information, then there could be a more public record. And even if it weren’t a ministry or school incentive. What if it just… became a  _ tradition?  _ Come of age, go check out your genealogy? And then there would have to be education on the intricacies of inheritance laws.

Well, the families which still retained pureblood bias would want her dead if she started promoting such a scheme. Because if a wizarding couple knew of their entire genealogy when they started having children, well, they might  _ name  _ those children with a variety of middle names that reflected the houses to which they technically belonged. And so many old houses would revive, certainly, but many rather stuffy houses would have some fascinating cadet branches who were absolutely in the right to use the name, going by wizarding inheritance law. Didn’t mean those people would inherit anything when anyone died, unless there was no one else left, of course. But it might mean the end of pure blood bias.

Or not. Some of those people were remarkably stubborn.

Hermione ate some more popcorn and wondered at the state of politics inside and out of the Wizengamot. She would value Narcissa’s view, but she wanted a different one as well.

And then she spied Augusta Longbottom on the arm of her grandson.

Hermione popped up out of her seat and went to go talk with them. She greeted Neville with a hug, not quite her normal approach, but after the last battle there were hugs all around everywhere, and dammit, she  _ liked  _ Neville.

“Madam Longbottom, it’s very nice to see you again.”

“And you, Miss Granger. Are you prepared for your final, albeit somewhat unusual year?”

Hermione smiled ruefully. “As ready as I can be, I think. I, I have a request, Madam Longbottom.”

An eyebrow raised, and Neville was looking curious as well. “Would you do me the honor of taking tea with me at Chamfords, just a few blocks from Diagon Alley, this Saturday at 4 in the afternoon? I would be most grateful,” Hermione said, trying to be as polite as possible.

An eyebrow was further raised. “I will, though I will caution you that if you seek my grandson’s hand in marriage, you should secure his affection first.”

Neville choked, then coughed. Hermione kept the snicker inside. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll keep that in mind,” she said, not able to keep a smile off her face.

The older woman took her leave of her grandson, and Hermione walked next to Neville as he pushed his luggage cart toward the train. 

“You’re not actually attempting to court me, are you, Hermione? I thought you and Ron were a thing.”

Hermione smiled and shook her head. “No, and also no. But I do want to be a better and closer friend to you than I have in the past, if that’s something you’d be alright with.”

Neville snorted and bumped his shoulder into hers. “Oh, please. We’re friends. And we’ve killed death eaters together.”

“Good,” Hermione stated, offering her bag of popcorn. He took some, eating with one hand and steering the cart with the other. “Very shortly I’ll need reliable friends, I think.”

Neville gave her a look, but finished eating before attempting to speak. “Something dreadful hasn’t happened, has it? You alright?”

“Not dreadful, no,” she said as they reached a porter who would load Neville’s trunk. The young man himself hefted a leather satchel onto his shoulders, and into his hands a cage with a very old toad in it.

“Come find me,” she said, “in the front of the second car at one. Lunch and strategizing. Oh, and Harry’s got a pet snake. So you know.”

“He didn’t,” Neville said, his look conveying his horror.

“He did. It’s quite small, though, all things considered. And we’ll see to it he doesn’t turn into a dark wizard.”

Neville huffed a sigh and shook his head. He muttered something Hermione didn’t quite catch before promising to see her later and going off to the same newsstand she’d frequented herself.

There wasn’t much on the platform. There was another little stand that sold Hogwarts-related paraphernalia. It had pennants, t-shirts, little charms, and it made her realize she’d need to get Narcissa something for Christmas. Possibly also Draco, though with Draco and what might end up being his sense of humor, it could possibly be a gag gift. Time would tell. But with Narcissa? Other than  _ elegant,  _ Hermione didn’t really know her style. But she had the beginnings of an idea, looking at the trinkets on display. If she decided to go with it, it might be something she’d have to get commissioned, and that avenue would take time to walk down.

In all of her musing and the few conversations she’d already had, time had begun to pass and it was now half past the hour, with only 30 minutes to go before the train left. More and more people were coming now, and Hermione was glad the elves were saving her compartment. She picked the bench most centrally located so she could see when Harry and Ginny arrived. She wasn’t sure if they would apparate in or not, but she hadn’t made much more progress in on her kettle corn when she saw them. Ginny was waving in her direction, and Harry was pushing the luggage cart with their two trunks, two broomstick cases - the brooms were apparently too new to be able to be shrunken safely - and on top, a large, almost spherical basket next to an owl cage with their owl, Special Delivery. Ginny had been inspired by Hermione’s naming scheme, and they both had a nice laugh over the names.

There were hugs when they got to Hermione, but only air kisses from Harry, and as Hermione stared hard at the shimmer around his shoulders she realized why. Saucepot wasn’t in his basket, but was disillusioned. 

“Are you going to wear him to class like a scarf?” Hermione asked, wondering if she should be horrified or amused.

“I’m thinking about it. Not potions, obviously. That could be dangerous. I’m thinking of calling him my Therapy Snake.”

Hermione thought about it. “You could have used a therapy snake in sixth year. And fifth.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Ginny agreed.

Harry grinned, unrepentant. “But I have one now. And that will be good enough.”

Hermione smiled in return and offered them some popcorn. “Anyway, I’m glad you’re here. I’ve bespoken the first compartment in the second car, so come and join me when you are ready. Ron - who was remarkably adult about things - and Neville - who apparently has spent the summer getting marriage proposals - are going to join us at one for lunch and strategizing. The twins sent me with food.”

“I love them more and more,” Ginny pointed out.

“Hard to believe they came from Kreacher. The apples fell extremely far from that tree,” Harry said.

“Well, I’m sure their lives haven’t been perfect by any means,” Hermione pointed out, unwilling to share their confidences, “but they weren’t in possession of a horcrux for two decades." 

"Mmm. Point," Harry said. And then added, "What, what? Neville's getting  _ what? _ "

"Glass houses," Ginny murmured towards her husband's ear, but not actually in it, due to presence of snake.

"See you two in a bit," Hermione said, waving and eating more kettle corn as she went. She walked through the familiar melee of children and parents, until she spied one more person she hadn't realized she needed to talk to.

"Luna!" Hermione called out.

"Hello, Hermione," the younger woman greeted her, walking alone along the platform with only a small leather satchel over her shoulder. "You're looking very regal today," she added with a dreamy smile.

Hermione choked on her own saliva and some of the kettle corn. A coughing fit ensued.

Luna rubbed Hermione's back until she got herself under control. "Sorry about that," she eventually croaked out.

"No problem. It can be hard to react normally sometimes. I understand."

"Hug?" Hermione asked, now that she had herself more or less under control.

"Hug!" Luna cried happily, and the two embraced.

"I'd love you to come sit with us, if you haven't sorted out your seat yet," Hermione said, taking a step back.

"That sounds lovely. Are you ready now?"

Hermione nodded and then looped her arm through Luna's as they made their way closer to the train. "Second car, first compartment," Hermione said as they approached. And as they approached, the door directly to the compartment opened and the step unfolded. Hermione noticed that Harry and Ginny were only just behind and so she left the door open for them.

"Oh, hello. I'm Luna. Who are you?"

"Tampy, miss."

"Pampy, miss."

"Ladies, thank you so much for all your help. Was it too difficult?"

"No miss, we just stared at everyone who opened the door, miss, and they closed the door again."

Hermione grinned. "Alright, not so bad. You can go get settled in at Hogwarts, now, and I'll call for you before I go to sleep tonight, alright?"

"Yes, miss. Travel well, miss."

"Call us earlier if you need us, miss. We don't mind, miss."

Hermione smiled a gentler smile as Luna settled in in the center seat on the opposite side of the elves. "I promise I will, if I need to. See you later."

They were gone in a pop.

"I'm glad you have elves now. I think you'll change more people's views on elves if they just see you interact with yours. More effective than badges. The pamphlets were nice, though. I do love a good pamphlet," Luna said as Hermione settled next to her and Ginny and Harry climbed into the carriage. He closed the door behind him.

"Luna, how nice to see you," Ginny said, and Hermione could see that she was practicing the politer ways of greeting friends.

"Really? Thank you. That's so kind of you," Luna said. It made Hermione a little sad to realize all over again how ostracised Luna often was.

"Hey, Luna, how was your summer?" Harry asked.

"Much calmer than the nine months preceding it. Yours?"

"Likewise. Nightmares?"

"Of course. You?"

"Yup. But I got a Therapy Snake named Saucepot. Wanna meet him?"

"Ooo, yes of course, I'd be honored! You know, I've always been quite envious of your ability to speak with snakes. I would if I could."

Hermione glanced at Ginny while Harry took his wand out of his sleeve and cast a finite. Ginny gave a little wordless shrug and had a largely benevolent look on her face.

While Luna was cooing over the four foot long black snake Harry had adopted, Hermione quietly asked, "So, if we figure out the spell to become parselmouths, you want in on that?"

"Without even a second thought."

Harry introduced Luna to his snake and Hermione offered more popcorn around.

"Can I hold him?" Luna asked.

Harry conversed with his pet and then gave permission. "He can understand you, you know, you just can't understand him."

"Yet," Luna said. "Hmm. Your aura is very clear," she said, addressing the snake as it slithered over to her and coiled around her arms and more loosely around her neck, "but you might already realize that. Harry will be very good to you, but you also need to be kind to him," she said, rubbing the snake down his length, or as far as she could reach while also holding him. "Every single year for the past seven years someone has started to try to kill him on this day. Sometimes a little earlier. They haven't succeeded yet, obviously, and they probably won't now, because he's gone and killed them instead, but it makes this time of year hard, you know? So you must be extra kind."

The snake looked at Harry, and then back at Luna.

"Saucepot would like to marry you, if you're available," Harry said with a soft smile.

Luna's eyes lit up. "Thank you for my very first marriage proposal. Unfortunately my father would not have consented. He was always very clear about it. I must marry a human with a good aura. It's best to be clear about these things up front, don't you think? That way there are no misunderstandings or needless confusions. But I would love to be your friend, if you would like that, too."

"He accepts."

"At one we're expecting Neville and Ron and I'd like you to stay, Luna, so we can all have lunch together and talk some strategy, because some fascinating things have happened to us in the past few days," Hermione said, running one finger down the warm, smooth skin of Saucepot.

"That sounds delightful. And you don't have to worry, Hermione."

Hermione bit her lip. "What makes you say that, Luna?"

"You're afraid right now. About many things. That everyone around you will turn on you and go away, and you'll be left alone to fix the world. But that's not true. And so you don't have to worry. Everyone will help you. You're not fighting a war anymore."

_ And this is why I want to include Luna in on everything now. Because she always somehow knows more than she ought to, and she seems to get it from thin air,  _ Hermione considered.

The whistle sounded. The train jolted twice before it started going forward smoothly. Crookshanks meowed. She was just in the midst of assuaging her cat's cantankerous manner when the door opened. In the doorway stood two tiny children - eleven years olds, clearly - who were almost in tears.

"There are no empty cars," one said while sniffing. “And none of the big kids will let us sit with them.”

In a cacophony, all four answered at once.

“Come in,” Hermione said.

“You can join us,” Harry said.

“You’re welcome to join us,” Ginny said.

“Everything’s going to be okay, now,” Luna said.

They were already in their robes, which weren’t designated by house yet. Just a plain black tie, and the Hogwarts crest on the outer robe.

“My name’s Luna. And this is Hermione, and that’s Ginny, and that’s Harry. And this guy is Saucepot. What are your names?”

“I’m Tommy. And that’s Negash.”

Everyone said hello in a grand chorus.

Crookshanks was coaxed out of his basket and Hermione held him up to greet Saucepot nose to nose.

“What do you think, Crooks? Is he a good snake?” Her half kneazle sniffed him quite a while, then finally head-bumped him and looked back at Hermione and glared to be set down.

Harry said something quietly in parseltongue, which was normal at this point, after half an evening of it yesterday.

“Can I pet your snake, Luna?” Negash asked quietly, finally speaking.

“You’ll have to ask Harry. Saucepot belongs to him. I’m just borrowing him.”

Harry nodded. “You may.”

“Oo, he’s warm.”

“Can I pet your kitty?” Tommy asked. 

“If he’ll let you. If he hisses, stop. And he’s half cat, half kneazle.

And then they discussed what a kneazle was, and Hermione recommended they read  _ Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them  _ as soon as possible. They could get it at the library. She also recommended  _ Hogwarts: A History,  _ for good measure.

“It won’t tell you where all the secret passages are, or how to get in the secret rooms and chambers, or why the castle is scared, but it is worth a read,” Ginny agreed.

“And when you inevitably get lost trying to get to class or back to your house, stop trying to figure it out on your own and just ask a portrait. Over and over if you need to. It’s easier that way,” Harry said, eating more popcorn, then offering some to the kids.

“What are the different houses like?”

“They’re all good places to be. Each house founder prized certain traits above all, but really, most of us have the traits of more than one house, and maybe even all four,” Hermione said.

“Ravenclaws hold knowledge as the most important thing. Just knowing is so beautiful. You don’t even really need to use it, to do, to accomplish, so long as you  _ know,”  _ Luna began, her dreamy voice full of wisdom that Hermione really should have been expecting by now. “Gryffindors think that courage is the most important thing. They’re never hampered by fear, even when it grips them tightly. They’ll still act. And Slytherins will always get it done, too, but they’ll be clever about it, and you might not even know it’s already happened. But Hufflepuff might be the best house of all. They’ll take anyone, anyone at all who is magical and wants to learn, and they’ll turn them into a family of equals who all have something to share. Hufflepuffs will always get it done, too, only it will be done together, for the benefit of all.”

“That’s really beautiful, Luna,” Ginny said. “I never thought about Hufflepuff that way, but it’s true, isn’t it?”

“It really is,” Harry chimed in. “Slytherins can be the bravest of all. Gryffindors can be the most intelligent. Ravenclaws can be damn tricky. But has there ever been a dark witch or wizard who came out of Hufflepuff?”

“Not according to  _ Hogwarts: A History,”  _ Hermione confirmed.

When Ron and Neville opened the door two hours later, Crookshanks was snoozing on Negash’s lap while the boy was reading Hermione’s copy of  _ Hogwarts: A History,  _ and Tommy was reading Luna’s copy of  _ Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them.  _ Saucepot was back on Harry’s shoulders. Harry was reading the book  _ Secrets  _ from the Black Family Vault, Ginny was reading one of the transfiguration books she’d just bought,  _ Paper Is All You Need, _ Hermione was reading the book  _ Black Ways and Means  _ from the same vault, and Luna was reading a copy of the Daily Prophet with a self inking quill in her hand, making corrections. A vase of fragrant roses was wedged between Hermione and Luna on the seat and the air was thick with its calming scent.

“Oi, what is this, the study car?” Ron said, announcing his presence. “I was promised lunch. Budge up, budge up."

Hermione looked up with a smile and caught Neville’s significant look between her and the first years. She raised her eyebrows as if to say, ‘not sure what to do about this’.

Instantly Neville crouched down in the doorway to be closer to eye level. “Good afternoon, gentlemen. Am I right in thinking you’d like to learn to play exploding snap like a professional?”

Hermione got the luncheon basket down from the upper shelf and peeked in again. She was right. She grabbed six sandwiches out, leaving plenty of food left inside.

“I want you to go to compartment 14 in this car and tell the boys in there that Neville sent you to learn the game, alright?”

The books were put aside almost immediately. Neville carefully picked up a snoozy Crookshanks and cradled the ginger tom against his chest.

“And take these to share, and don’t forget to eat one yourself,” Hermione said, handing over the sandwiches. “Tell them they’re from Hermione.”

A chorus of thank yous sounded before they scampered out. The door was shut and Harry immediately locked the door and cast three quick privacy charms.

Ginny sorted out the food in the basket and Hermione pulled out six cans of the fizzy drink from her purse.

The twins had made various Chinese dishes and soon Ginny was dishing out rice, chicken in sauce, vegetables and wrapped rolls into six bowls. Chopsticks and forks were handed around.

“Wow, thanks, Hermione. My gran always just sends me with a cold chicken sandwich and an apple. Same thing since first year.”

“You’re welcome, but I can hardly take any credit for this. It was my new house elves. Tampy and Pampy. Twins. And excellent chefs.”

“Such good chefs,” Ginny moaned around her chicken.

“What?” Ron said loudly, speaking with his mouth regrettably full. Happily, nothing fell out.

“Hermione has house elves, now,” Luna said. “They’re part of what she wants to talk to us about.”

Hermione gave Harry a beseeching look, so he started the tale while she ate a bit.

He told them about the letters from Mrs. Malfoy, about their suppositions regarding her complex motivations, skipped over the manners training entirely, and explained about Grimmauld Place.

“Oi, mate. We thought about that once, remember? Wondered if it was absolutely secure. Glad there was no harm done, there,” Ron pointed out.

“I don’t get it,” Neville said. “I mean, I get it about the gift of the house and that is extremely generous, but why is it such a big deal to clean it up? Don’t like the wall colors or something?”

Ron launched a brief and highly amusing account of the state of 12 Grimmauld Place, interrupted by Neville.

“Oi!” he said, staring at Harry’s hand. “Is that a wedding ring?”

Harry nodded and grinned, and took a bite of lunch.

“When the hell did you get married? And to whom?”

Ginny spoke up. “We mutually kidnapped each other at the beginning of the summer and eloped to Gretna Green. For the record, no one knew until afterwards, not even Ron or Hermione. And my mother is still not speaking to me. Haven’t bothered to file the paperwork with the Ministry yet. Suppose we will at some point soon.”

“I don’t suppose you’d let me have an exclusive interview for the Quibbler, and time the filing of your paperwork to the publication of the interview?” Luna asked, her voice not at all dreamy.

“Good a way as any,” Ginny said, looking at Harry for his opinion.

Harry nodded. “Let’s time it as close as possible to October 31st. Give me something pleasant to look forward to on that day,” he said. Then he looked over to Luna, “Is that doable?”

“Of course,” she said with an impish smile.

“And no peep until then?”

“Not from me, but the rest of the school is going to know by the end of the welcoming feast, so if you want the Quibbler to  _ break  _ the news, you’ll need to move up your timetable,” she pointed out.

“Fair point,” Ginny said quietly.

“Ah, well. So be it. You can interview us after we’re done with this general conversation, and we’ll make sure the Ministry gets a copy of the marriage certificate the day it’s published, yeah?”

“Excellent. That will be the issue that comes out next Saturday. But my larger question is, can I be the first to break all the news we’re sharing, and is it feasible to draw it out one week at a time?”

Hermione chuckled. “Let’s get through all the news first, then we’ll get the Strategic Brain over there to get us going in the right direction.”

“So.” Neville said, back to normal. “Harry and Ginny got married. Narcissa Malfoy is turning out to be both sane and generous, and Hermione has house elves that cook like a dream. Is that it? Did the house elves come as the beginning of Hermione’s apology or something?”

“Er, sort of,” Ginny said, then went back to eating.

Hermione and Harry shared the same look all over again. And again he spoke. He spoke of what Bellatrix had done, and how Narcissa felt about it. Then he talked about the inheritance. Then he talked about Gringotts, genealogy, and Her Royal Majesty the Pendragon Queen Regent of Avalon.

Neville’s eyes were wide, and staring at Hermione. “The once and future king,” he breathed. Then corrected himself with a tiny shake. “Queen.”

“Also the Viscountess of Black,” Ginny added.

Ron was silent until he quietly stated, “There hasn’t been a Pendragon Regent in a thousand years. That’s one of the reasons Hogwarts was built. No one could guarantee the safety of the children, or their magical education.” Then he paused. “Shit, Hermione.”

“So that’s why you want to talk to Gran. She sits on the Wizengamot, and the Hogwarts Board of Governors. And now… so do you.”

Honestly, Hermione hadn’t thought about the Hogwarts angle, but that was one of many reasons she wanted to gather this group together - they would see things she didn’t see.

“I don’t entirely know what all of this is going to mean,” Hermione said slowly, holding her food on her lap. “But I realize I will have both power and opportunity, rights and responsibilities, and I will likely meet resistance, sycophants, backstabbing, and all manner of road hazard. And I know,  _ I know  _ that I will need a group of trusted associates who will have my back, keep me grounded, argue with me when I’m wrong, and help me sort out the mess I have found myself in. I mean, the Ministry and the Wizengamot have done without the Pendragon Regent for a thousand years. Does anyone here actually imagine they want one as anything other than a fond possibility for a happily distant future?”

“No,” Neville mused quietly. “No, it could be quite ugly. Quite ugly indeed.”

“I will value Narcissa and everything she brings, but I honestly don’t think she considers - or considered, when it was just the gift of the house, and making me her heir - that  _ I  _ was aligning with  _ her.  _ I think it’s pretty clear that  _ she  _ intended to align  _ with us.  _ And if that has changed since the family tree business at the bank, then she’s not the person I thought she was.”

Ron gave her a look askance.

Harry piped in. “No, I’m with Hermione on this one. It’s not that we trust her implicitly. But we do think that many of her objectives in life have drastically changed, and that in many ways what we want is not so different. She just has to be a little more overt in order to convince other people that she’s not inherently dark and a source of corruption. Lord knows her husband was.”

“So, you don’t have to give your answers now, and we don’t actually have to strategize now, not really. But I want everyone here to think about whether or not you’re willing to help me, in the ways that you can. I will admit that I am looking for a long-term commitment, not just for this year, because I’ll be working on long-term and life-long goals for Magical Britain. But it doesn’t necessarily mean you’d need to put aside all of your own plans. I’m hoping for dovetails, really.”

“I’m in,” Ginny said. “I’m still doing some entrepreneurial stuff after graduation, which may or may not pan out to be helpful to the cause, but I’m totally in, anything I can do to help.”

“In. For life. Whether you like it or not,” Harry said simply, and continued eating.

“I’m so very in,” Luna said. “You’ve got me for as long as you want me. I’ll be taking over the Quibbler when I graduate - not entirely all at once, you understand, but I’ll be learning each aspect of it much more closely than before. I might do some travelling to other news outlets around the world to see if I can bring back better practices kind of thing, but whatever you need, whenever you need, I’m with you.”

“I’m fascinated,” Neville said. “And I’m honored you’d think I’d be useful, Hermione. Thank you.”

Hermione smiled tightly, noticing that he hadn’t taken her up on it, yet.

“And I’m in,” he added. “I’m not entirely comfortable promising you my life on the proverbial first date, but I think this is the sort of thing I’ll never want to leave, and regardless, I’ll always keep your confidence. I know how you feel about snitches, and to be quite honest, I agree completely.”

“Yeah,” Ron said warily. “This feels way too much like the life commitment you and I just decided not to make each other. Which is not to say that I won’t help. And I will absolutely keep your confidence. Just not sure about being at your beck and call.”

“You’re about to be knighted, mate,” Neville pointed out, incredulously. “Exactly whose beck and call do you imagine you’ll be at then? Queen Elizabeth II? We have a Queen Regent again.”

Ron paused eating, again. “Yeah,” he said slowly. “Really just thought it was going to be a ceremony and a title.”

"Huh," Harry said. "Me, too."

“And well it might have been, if the Pendragon line continued extinct,” Luna said. “This is why she needs our help. Not everyone will be happy about having more responsibility for the good of the community. That’s been sadly lacking. Tom Riddle couldn’t have done much, if it hadn’t. Nor Grindelwald. Nor any of the other dark ones who have risen and passed through our fair isle.”

“That’s a sobering thought,” remarked Ginny.

"I'll help, you know I'll help," Ron said. "And I'll always keep your confidence. That's a given. Really not sure about the commitment part, though. I mean, I want to say yes, but I'm trying to be realistic."

Hermione smiled. It was a little bit of a sad smile, but an absolutely genuine one. "To be honest, Ron,  _ totally _ honest, I'm relieved that you're taking this so seriously. I'd rather you say, 'thus far and no farther' than make commitments you can't honor."

"Clear expectations ahead of time save so much anguish later, don't you think?" Luna said, back to her dreamy voice.

Ron rounded on her, using the chopsticks as a pointer. “You know, I’m really surprised you haven’t mentioned nargles yet.”

_ Totally uncalled for, and there is the immature Ron I know and do not want to date,  _ Hermione thought rather uncharitably.  _ Lashing out at the person least likely to put him in his place. _

“Well,” Luna began undaunted, and tilting her head as she looked past Hermione and out the window. “I know none of you can see them, and I had a rather difficult experience that taught me to simply not bring up what I can see and others can’t. My father had always been quite generous, you see. He taught me to trust myself, even if others didn’t. There are other ways to discern, beyond community. But really,” Luna said, now slowly, slowly turning her head until she seemed to be looking at Ron, “being a source of ridicule has really helped me know who I am, and who I’m not. How has it helped you?” she ended quietly, and the silence in the car was punctuated only by the sounds of the train itself.

Still, Harry and Hermione met each other’s wide-eyed gaze and then looked back at Ron, who was completely flushed with embarrassment.

“I… guess… it… just… makes me… really angry.”

“Hmm,” answered Luna.

“Can we talk about timing? Media release? That sort of thing?” Ron asked before studiously returning to his egg roll.

“Right. Well. We’re all on board to various degrees. I know the ministry will want to weigh in on this,” Hermione began thoughtfully.

“And if I may,” Neville gently interrupted. “We may not want to make any firm decisions until we consider what the Ministry will have to say, and honestly where QE2 stands on all of this. If I remember my history correctly, and it’s been a while since Gran forced this down my throat, so I might not, the reigning British monarch has to authorize the regency being held by the Pendragon Scion, should one eventually appear again, which one eventually has. I mean, you’re a Pendragon. And Gringotts has notarized it, so it’s as real as anything. And that means that you’re heir to whatever the Pendragons still have, but when the last one died without naming an heir and the reigning monarch chose  _ not  _ to bestow the regency elsewhere, well, it reverted back to the Crown. I think.”

“I need a book about this, Neville. And I need it yesterday.”

Neville nodded. “I’ll go to the library tomorrow in my first free period and do some research. I’ll make you a list of all the books that look familiar and useful. There were several I had to read back in one of my summers, so long ago.”

“Another thing to think about,” said Ginny. “I really don’t think we should just automatically do whatever the Ministry wants, just because the Ministry wants it. I mean, not that we should be antagonistic just for the fun of it, but I think that we, or really, Hermione, should think long and hard before she says yes to pretty much anything he says. Even with Kingsley in charge, he’s got a lot of things to consider, a lot of plates in the air, you know? And Hermione’s best interests aren’t going to be his main concern, as much as he likes her, and as much as he’s a genuinely good person and a decent minister so far.”

“I agree,” Ron said. “I think you should go into any meeting cautious, open minded, and with the determination to never agree or disagree to anything immediately. ‘I’ll have to think about that,’ should be the familiar response.

“I have a meeting with Madam Longbottom on Saturday, which is only three days from now, and we’re due to meet with Narcissa for a nice long chat the Saturday after that. I’d like your Gran ideally to be an advisor as you all are, but I’m certain I can’t open with that, and so I’ll settle for a session of useful conversation.”

“She always sends me an owl the first morning I’m at Hogwarts. I can’t imagine this year will be any different. I could have a confidential letter ready to send back to her, to prepare her, if you want. She’d only use our family owl, who has several security charms on him. I wouldn’t dare to send such a letter otherwise.”

“I’d love it,” Hermione replied. “Give her a heads up that my other, um, adult advisor is Narcissa Malfoy.”

Neville smirked. “I will.”

“You know, I think in another life,” Luna began, “Augusta Longbottom and Narcissa Malfoy might have been quite good friends. They’re strong women who value family above all else, and they have a deep respect for tradition.”

Well, that just twisted the mind.

“Yes,” Harry conceded, “but will they get along in this one, is the question.”

“Time will tell,” Luna answered.

“Okay, would any of you be willing to go to meetings with me, and such. I mean, not everyone needs to, and certainly not everyone at each one, but I’d appreciate at least at first, not going alone.”

“Ideally Narcissa and Augusta would accompany you to all of them at first. But I’d also be willing, whenever I can,” Luna said.

“I’m in,” Harry said. “They may consider me a loose canon at this point, and so it might not be in your favor. Your call on which meetings you want me there. No hard feelings either way.”

“I’m in,” Neville said. “And no one considers me much of anything. But still. I’m totally in, Hermione. This is the most interesting thing - well, positive and interesting thing- that has happened to the wizarding world since Merlin began the Wizengamot. And if I can be useful to you, well, it’s this, or I take a Mastery in Herbology and putter around with my plants. Which I can still do, of course. And I might anyway. But I’d rather be right behind you, helping to make this happen in the best way possible.”

“Thanks, Neville,” Hermione said, her heart strangely touched.

“Erm, is it okay if I say no?” Ginny asked. “I’m all about being  _ behind _ the scenes.”

“Of course it’s okay,” Hermione said with a smile.

“I’ll opt out too, if you don’t mind,” Ron said mildly.

“Totally reasonable,” Hermione agreed.

“Concerning media representation,” Luna said, changing the subject. “I would understand if you decline, but I’d be honored if you’d allow the Quibbler to break your news. We haven’t really gotten into syndication, but that’s an area my cousins and I think needs to happen next. We’ve considered getting a daily broadsheet going - I think the name  _ The Daily Quibble  _ has quite a lot of merit, and keep the weekly for more in depth articles on a wider variety of subjects, including some across the spectrum of academic breakthroughs and their wider implications. The Prophet doesn’t bother itself with international news, not really, and so there’s a market for cross-syndication, really. And we could do a lot with freelance before we even get into employing correspondents, but I digress.”

“Oh, Luna,” Hermione said. “I was hoping you’d feel that way. It’s one of the several reasons I want you in this inner circle.”

“I do believe the media should be unbiased, Hermione,” Luna said, her soft tone a soft warning.

“And I respect you more for that, Luna. If you’re privy to off-the-record meetings, will you be okay with things staying off the record until they’re not?”

“Hmm, I foresee difficult moments. But it will help me grow as a moral person. So, yes. I agree. I’ll keep separate notebooks.”

“Ron, what do you think about timing?” Hermione asked as Ginny dished out seconds to those who were ready.

“Well, there are a lot of pieces on the board, and we need time for everyone to get into place. Augusta Longbottom, Minister Shacklebolt, Narcissa Malfoy, Queen Elizabeth II-”

“Oh, and I’m meeting with Headmistress McGonnagall this evening,” Hermione added.

“-the Headmistress, the head of the Wizengamot - who is that now? - and there may be a few others we don’t know about yet. Once everyone is in the loop, everyone is going to have a different agenda going forward. Possibly the most important agenda will be that of Her Royal Majesty. October 15th is when we would have been knighted, and she’ll either have to make a decision by then or postpone it, because she’s clearly not going to knight Hermione - can you knight a viscountess? I’m not sure you can knight a viscountess - and to simply fail to have her take part without explanation would cause riots in the streets at this point. 

“So, the Queen will either reinstate the regency with or without folderol, or she won’t, and we’ll have an entirely different kettle of fish to deal with.”

“What do you mean folderol?” Harry asked, and Hermione was glad for it.

Neville chimed in. “I think Pendragon’s estates and possibly investments, if there were such things a thousand years ago, would have reverted back to the Crown. Anything that wouldn’t fit in the vault, really. So in there you’d have paintings, books, small valuables, charmed artifacts, actual money, but anything not guarded by goblins would revert. And she might decide to give that back. Or not.”

Hermione nodded her thanks to Neville. “More about the vault in a moment. Ron, let’s get back to timing.”

“Right. So, I’d say the closer to  _ after  _ graduation we can postpone the announcement, the better. I know that’s nine months. But as soon as all this hits the fan, whether or not you become the Regent of Avalon or you’re just the Heir to Black and the Scion of Pendragon, you’ll want to be able to really focus your efforts on what that means, and I’m guessing politics and estate management are going to be really high on your radar. Do you really want to be wrangling the Wizengamot, studying precedent and law and political intrigue while you are simultaneously revising for your NEWTs? I mean, all the time turners were destroyed, Hermione. You won’t get one again. But regardless, there is the knighting ceremony coming up. I mean, if we really do want to delay this, we could work with Kingsley and the Crown’s representative and say that we really don’t want to become knights until we’ve graduated, because we take the responsibility seriously, blah, blah, blah, and we couldn’t possibly bear such a responsibility as school students. Which is utter tripe because we managed to vanquish no-nose and also manage classes-”

“-Well, some of us did,” Neville added wrly. “Some of us were off camping.”

“And starving,” Harry added, enjoying his food with relish.

“Same point,” Ginny said blithely. “Please continue.”

“But the press will eat that up. No offence, Luna,” Ron said, finishing.

“No offence. The Daily Prophet will. The Quibbler might run something slightly different. You know we enjoy pointing out the obvious. And we may have to point out that school children managed to vanquish a dark lord, but admittedly, that was badly planned. And a knighthood shouldn’t be badly planned.”

“Thought,” Ginny added. “In the vein of, ‘don’t trust the Ministry as far as you can personally throw the entire building.’ Imagine this scenario: all the powerholders decide yes, yes, let’s wait until June of next year to recognize Hermione as Pendragon and Regent. And then quietly legislation is passed to somehow invalidate a Regent’s rights and responsibilities and deny Pendragon a seat on the Wizengamot. ‘Extinct lines can only be revived within 750 years’, ‘if a Regent abdicates responsibility for more than 8 ¾ months they are ineligible to serve in their lifetime,’ or whatever. There are still plenty of anti-Harry factions in the Ministry, and they would extend that sentiment to Hermione, I’m sure. They know we’re all thick as thieves.”

“This meeting being evidence in support,” Luna said, nodding.

“Well, that does sound like the Ministry,” Ron agreed.

“Delores Umbridge in particular,” Neville agreed.

“Luna,” Hermione said, turning to her with a grin. “Don’t you think  _ The Daily Quibble  _ needs to have a specific law correspondent, soon, possibly with some visually defined rating scale that clearly and adequately represents what the law is meant to contain and what it really contains? And by the way, I think the Black Family would be willing to discuss being a significant investor in the expansion of this reliable media outlet. For the good of the community, you understand.”

Hermione could see the stars in Luna’s eyes.

“It would be even better,” Ron added, “if you could actually get  _ all _ the old families, and even some of the newer ones, to publicly invest. You could have different levels of investment. Maybe that kind of thing is printed somewhere in every issue, who are the major and minor stakeholders. The idea would be, no matter your political motivation, everyone benefits from an unbiased, unencumbered press. No one owns it. All the major stakeholders are on the board of directors, but so are others, picked by the editor, or something, and no one overrides the editor-in-chief.”

“ _ Oh I love it! The Daily Quibble could start as a political and legislative fact-checking machine! And then we could expand to national news, international news from syndication, and then the world is our oyster! I can see it now! The Daily Quibble, subtitle: Avalon’s Watchdog.”  _ And then Luna squeaked in delight.

“I want to be your first subscriber, Luna,” Harry said.

“I’m number two,” Neville said.

“I’m three!” both Hermione and Ginny said at the same time. 

“You’ve already got Harry’s,” Hermione said. 

“This is important news!” Ginny said with mock indignation. “I want my own, don’t I? But fine, I’ll be number four.”

“Yeh, sign me up,” Ron agreed.

“Let me talk with Narcissa about investing, and you talk with your cousins to see what’s feasible to start with. But the faster we could get going with our political watchdog, the easier I will rest at night if we are able to put this off until graduation. Because you’re right, Ginny. I trust Kingsley far more than the average politician, but I don’t imagine he’s got everyone under control.”

“No,” Ginny said grimly. “I don’t suppose he has.”


	7. Chapter 6: Wherein Minerva meets many people.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> September 1st is always a very long day for the Head of Hogwarts. This September 1st is no different.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the love, friends. I'm enjoying this ride, too. :D Have some of Minerva's brand of administrative sanity. It does a soul good as half the country stress tests working from home.

Minerva McGonagall surveyed the three couples before her in her office. One set was sure to complain. The other two she couldn’t be certain of. 

“Please, do sit down,” she said formally.

There were three settees settled in an arc before her desk. Her office was blissfully devoid of widgets, gadgets, trinkets, and things that went ‘wrrrguhlOOT!’ In fact, the other end of it was wide open and largely empty, ready for multiple uses when she decided that she needed them. The chairs, which had temporarily become settees, usually resided in the emptier portion of the room. Most of the portraits were feigning sleep, as they often did. Albus’, Severus’, and Phineas’ frames were entirely empty and had been all day. Phillys was drinking port and grinning down at them.

“I have called you here to discuss the privileges I have extended you as both adults, and as married couples. I have decided, after consultation with the school’s Board of Governors, and with the consent of Hogwarts herself, that you, as married adults, and yet still students in residence, shall comport yourselves with the same dignity as would married, adult  _ professors  _ in residence. What this means shall be provided to you shortly, in  _ great _ detail. You will be required to read the policies in question. You will be given an opportunity to ask questions. You will be provided with your options, should you not wish to abide by the terms set forth, and  _ you will sign the document stating your clear understanding of the terms and your agreement to whichever option you have chosen.  _

“This document is  _ binding _ . If you fail to abide by the terms three times, you will no longer be allowed to be in residence. You may also choose to not be in residence from the beginning. As a student not in residence, you may attend your classes, and you may have borrowing privileges from the library. If you are injured in the course of your classes, you will receive medical attention here. But you will not be part of a house, you will neither live, nor eat here, and you will not loiter here after your classes and your borrowing from the library are finished for the day. When your NEWTs are finished, your tuition with us ends, and you may return for the graduation ceremony. While a student  _ not  _ in residence, you will  _ still _ be required to adhere to the policies for comportment in public. Should you violate them  _ an additional three times,  _ or for those who voluntarily decide to not be in residence,  _ a preliminary three times,  _ you will be expelled. 

“The violations require no witnesses, as they shall be noted by the castle herself. Your own copy of the document, as well as the one on file with me, will be annotated with the date, time, location, and a description of the violation, should you incur one. 

“There are no appeals. 

“There will be no other notification of violation, save your loss of residency, and your expulsion from the school. 

“And there are no exceptions,” she said now looking directly into the soft eyes of Harry Potter. “No exceptions, under any circumstance, whatsoever.”

_ “You will act like proper ladies and gentlemen, or you will not be here.” _

Mrs. Lavender Thomas, nee Brown looked personally insulted.

Mrs. Marietta Finnigan, nee Edgecomb looked vaguely green in the face.

Mrs. Ginerva Potter, nee Weasley looked smug.

She held up a hand. “Please reserve your questions until after you have read the document. Then I shall answer whichever questions you have.” With a wave, the three documents zipped into place and unfurled themselves in between each couple before floating down towards their laps. “I shall return to you in ten minutes. Do read it with all care.”

Then she got up and left through the side door behind her desk to go through the short passage way to her private study. She sat down at the desk and checked the small carriage clock there. It was six minutes after eight in the evening. Then she looked to the letters on the surface of her desk. She had attended to them, as she had all of her correspondence for the day. But these two still flummoxed her.

* * *

_ September 1, 199_  
_ _ Ministry of Magic _

_ Dear Minnie, _

_ I trust your finest lion cub has given you a heads up on her most recent claims to fame. I can’t begin to describe how much this will change everything. I’ll leave that to your imagination for now. I know the beginning of the year is a crush for you, but we need to speak, and we need to do so as soon as possible, and I’ll also need to speak with the Lady of the hour following that conversation. I understand she might wish to have some trusted advisors with her for it. Let’s set a time when I see you. _

_ Please tell me when your first two hour block of availability is, and I will rearrange my schedule to suit and call upon you. _

_ With affection,  
_ _ Kingsley _

* * *

_ September 1, 199_  
_ _ Malfoy Manor _

_ Dear Headmistress, _

_ I am writing to you in regards to my heir of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black, Hermione Granger. I am asserting my right as her Head of House to be present at any non-scholastic meetings of import that may take place within your awareness at which my heir is also present. I’m sure you will understand my concern for the Scion and Viscountess of Black. _

_ Most sincerely,  
_ _ Lady Narcissa Malfoy, Countess Black _

* * *

Minerva rubbed her temples and checked the clock. She called on the house elf that tended to her, Grims, and arranged to have tea, shortbread, and fruit tarts in her office at nine. That conversation, strangely, she was looking forward to. A question and answer period with two of the most immature war veterans she’d yet met, she looked forward to less so.

* * *

Mrs. Malfoy, or  _ Countess Black,  _ as she was now styling herself was due to arrive at half past nine, which would allow for thirty minutes for her and Hermione to discuss… academics.

As she was pouring out the tea for Miss Granger, the Headmistress began speaking.

“Miss Granger, please forgive me for skipping a heap of preliminaries that by all rights I ought to give you. We haven’t much time for ourselves, for your Head of House has asserted her right to join us for any non-academic meeting. She will arrive, if I am not very much mistaken, in precisely twenty-nine minutes. So I will say only this. I hope when we are not interacting on academic matters, you will feel free to call me Minerva.” She handed her a cup and settled back in her own chair with the second. The third was left unpoured for the moment.

“I would be honored, Headmistress. Thank you, I will. And please call me Hermione.”

“Now, academics. Though of course if you choose to change the subject, it would only be polite of me to respond. And I pride myself on being a polite woman. But I have no doubt whatsoever that you will study appropriately for your NEWTs and do credit to our fair institution. Have you considered what you’d like to do after you graduate?” Minerva asked with a smile that wouldn’t melt butter.

“I’ve been considering that quite intensely for the past two days  _ in particular _ , as it happens. I believe I’d like to get into politics,” Hermione said, and Minerva quite enjoyed her impish smile.

“What an  _ excellent _ career choice, Miss Granger. You have always seemed to me to have a heart for equality, and of course your intelligence could lead you any which way you wish. You may find an independent study in history and governance to be well worth your effort this year. We have no professors worth your salt in the subject, but I believe the Board of Governors would be willing to bring in several tutors, and I would be willing to oversee this independent study, myself. Previous to your political thoughts, had you considered taking a mastery of any subject?”

“Arithmancy and Ancient Runes are my favorites,” Hermione admitted with a wry smile.

“Oh, well that’s excellent,” Minerva offered with a smile that said more than her words. “First, it is always good to have well-rounded politicians. We suffer when we haven’t any. Second, a dual mastery, perhaps taken over a longer period of time and taken under Masters who are well-conversant with your political aspirations, could dovetail very nicely indeed. We shall meet on the subject another time and invite those professors to join our tete-a-tete. Now, are there any questions you have of me?”

“Minerva,” Hermione prefaced while reaching for a biscuit. “Do you have any credible reason to distrust Narcissa Malfoy’s about-face?” 

“I see you cut to the chase, Hermione. I will admit that we have never seen her stand on her own, without her husband, and it could be that without his influence or guidance she may be a very strong ally indeed. But she is an unknown figure at best, and while she has named you her heir, and you have accepted, the other part of your genealogy that so has everyone’s hair on fire was unexpected by you both, I suppose?”

“Us, and the whole world, I’m sure.” Hermione said around a nibble. “Have you already guessed? I’m the Pendragon Scion.”

Minerva took a deep breath and looked off, seeing not the stone wall, but the stories she grew up hearing. Dimly the Headmistress heard gasps behind her on the portrait wall. Gasps, and whispers of  _ ‘Pendragon? Pendragon!’ _

“I had guessed, yes, but to hear it confirmed is another thing entirely. Pendragon. How many generations before you?”

“Sixty-one, if you count my squib ancestor, sixty-two if you count her mother, too. It’s from my mother’s side.”

“Your mother must be very proud, Hermione.”

Minerva wondered at the sudden loss of color in the young woman sitting across from her. “My parents are still in hiding. It’s been difficult to reach them.”

“Do you need help, my dear?” she asked, suddenly concerned. It had been three months since the war ended. 

“I… may take you up on that at some point. I have not yet exhausted all avenues.”

Minerva took the opportunity afforded her. “When you ask, I will help you, Hermione. This will always be the case.” Each woman met the other’s eye and the understanding there was complete.

“I appreciate that more than I can tell you, Minerva. I have been assembling a sort of… kitchen cabinet, if you will. Trusted advisors. For I am determined that Narcissa will not be the only one. I’m hoping to add Augusta Longbottom, and I would be honored if you would join as well.”

Minerva smiled. “My  _ dear _ Hermione! I am honored, and I will advise you in good faith, no matter how we may at times disagree.”

Hermione smiled and took a sip of tea and there was silence, for the moment. Eventually she spoke. “I have a happy bit of gossip for you that should make you smile,” the young woman offered with an impish grin. “Narcissa made the offer to me partly because it would make Bellatrix roll in her grave.”

Minerva chortled in glee.  _ That it would! _

“She also gave me the cure to the curse on my arm. And that before she made her offer. In seven days,” Hermione said, gently stretching and flexing her arm, “I should be finally healing and not in quite so much constant pain. For that alone she would have my vote of confidence.”

“Well!” Minerva said, mildly impressed. “I am disposed to be cordial to her, then, and I shall refrain from immediately testing her loyalty.”

A knock sounded and the door opened. Both women stood up to greet the third who entered the room in a surprisingly sedate black business suit.  _ She’s wearing trousers!  _ Minerva thought without even realizing it, though her face remained calm and mildly welcoming.  _ Heaven forefend! _

“Do come in, Countess Black, and join us for some tea. Hermione and I have just finished up our academic conversation and are prepared to discuss other things.”

“Thank you for your forbearance, Headmistress,” the blonde replied with just the right mix of politese and formality, but none of the snobbery Minerva had been used to ever since the chit started dating Malfoy in her sixth year. Then she addressed her heir. “Hermione, my dear. How was your trip?”

Hermione smiled in that impish way that gladdened the old woman’s heart. “Extremely productive. Books have been read, alliances have begun, and I do believe I witnessed the birth of an unbiased daily broadsheet.”

Narcissa smiled, and Minerva was fascinated by the open look on her face. She was clearly proud of Hermione’s progress and she also clearly had little association with the young woman’s work ethic, or she would not have been so surprised.

“Well done,” the Countess said, and it seemed like she meant it.

“Minerva,” Hermione turned to her, her face just innocent enough. “If I hadn’t made it clear before, I’m also the Pendragon scion.”

The Headmistress strove to have the same response as last time. Certainly the portraits played along. Once that was done with, the three got down to business.

“Hermione did betray to me her desire to go into politics, and knowing her drive and intelligence, I suggested an independent study in history and governance with a focus on the British Isles, and a survey beyond that. Independent tutors will be required, but I don’t suppose I’ll have any guff with the Board of Governors, will I?”

Narcissa was, of course, all things gracious, which was kind of her, as a member of said board. “I think you likely won’t,” she agreed.

“Well,” Minerva began, “this does nicely explain why the Minister of Magic sent me an urgent owl today wishing a two hour block of my time to discuss you, Hermione.”

“I merit two hours?” Hermione said, adding sauce to her serving of biscuits and tea.

“Naturally you do, my dear,” Narcissa replied. “But everything hinges on whether or not the reigning monarch restores the line as Regent. Did the Minister imply anything one way or the other?”

“No, he was quite obscure in his references to begin with. But he did request a meeting with Hermione quite soon, and hoped that we could set a time while he was here. And as much as we love Kingsley, Hermione, that is certainly no meeting to enter into alone.”

“I’m assembling a kitchen cabinet of sorts, Narcissa. And I’d like you, and some of them, to be there. And you, if you’re willing, Minerva. But I have been discussing with them and we think it might be best if the ceremony to bestow knighthoods be postponed until after graduation. That will give us all time, but mainly me time, to finish my year here and to prepare myself a bit to hit the ground running. I mean, I could do that now, but I’m really not certain I could do that and get excellent NEWTs without benefit of a time turner. And all those being knighted are in agreement, and we have a short list of excuses of why it should be. Of course we don’t find them credible, but the rest of the country probably will.”

“I can see both sides of an argument for and against that course of action. Have you other plans as well, my heir?”

“Regardless of what the monarch decides about the Pendragon line, I still want to be a cleansing and moderating force in the world, and so I’m going forward with that plan no matter what. It was what I really wanted to do after graduation, anyway. I’ve been talking with Luna Lovegood, and she and her cousins who currently are running The Quibbler for her while she finishes school are really quite keen on starting a daily broadsheet that will more directly compete with the Prophet, leaving the current media for more in depth weekly pieces. I’ve suggested to her that she begin as a political and legislative watchdog. It’s a common enough thing in the muggle world. Are you ladies familiar with the idea?”

Hermione briefly explained the common political term and Minerva immediately saw the  _ immense _ usefulness of such a mechanism.

“Further, I believe that such fair, balanced, and expositional writing would be in the benefit of all Wizarding Britain. I’m backing the suggestion that we try to get all of the old houses and most of the new ones to be either major or minor investors with the idea that there could be a stakeholders meeting or a board with voice but not vote. It would keep the editor-in-chief free to have her own integrity without being significantly bought by one family or faction-” and while Hermione said this, she neither flinched, inflected, nor glanced at the Malfoy in the room, “-while giving a very strong sign to the Ministry and the Wizengamot that under-handed dealings and quickly passed unjust laws are a thing of the past.”

“An interesting idea. And the difference between the major and minor investors?”

“Well, it wouldn’t quite be the same as being a stockholder in the muggle world, if you’ve familiarity with it. Here we’re investing in free speech and transparency in politics and law, and that’s where the return in our investment would reside. It’s an investment in our community. But it’s also a sign, or it could be, given that the houses investing would be listed in each paper, that these are the houses that want to cooperate, despite differences of opinion. And if some houses are looking to make a large sign with a significant impact, this could be the place for that. For those houses without the ability to make a larger annual financial commitment, the minor investor category applies. For those houses with the means and the desire, the major investor category. Regardless, neither category will break anyone’s bank, and the newspaper will also solicit advertisers and then there will be subscribers, too.”

“The House of Black will naturally wish to invest, and I suspect that Le Domme du Malfoi will as well.”

“As will McGonagall, and I’m sure a great number of other families.”

“I’ll be sure to tell Luna. She’s busy planning and writing to her cousins this evening. The initial investment will allow for the paper to get up and running with all of the necessary moving parts. I imagine there will be an announcement soon in  _ The Quibbler.”  _

There was a moment of silence as they all drank some tea and nibbled some shortbreads or tarts.

Narcissa asked the next question. “Would you consider, all things being equal, earlier announcements to be made that would include your willingness to take up the Recency, and your Pendragon responsibilities, after graduation?”

“I would need to think about that. What are the benefits that you see?” Hermione replied, and Minerva was impressed by the ease and wisdom of her response. They do grow up quickly.

“You seem to be a young lady moving in the direction of clarity and transparency, in your personal and professional life,” Narcissa replied. “Secrets become some, but not you. And secrets have a way of eating their keepers, requiring ever thicker armor and often more secrets.”

“‘Tis quite true,” Minerva agreed. “And you’ve kept enough secrets already for a lifetime, Hermione. It may be best to harbor no more.”

“Well, in that case, Luna has asked for the privilege of breaking all my news, and I’m inclined to give it to her, for a variety of reasons. Narcissa,” Hermione said, specifically addressing the woman, “would you be willing to sit down for an interview with Luna, as well? Or possibly together with me, if you prefer? She doesn’t have a poisoned pen, and I think she’d be very interested in sharing what you’ve been doing post-war.”

“I would be honored to have the opportunity. Thank you for thinking of me.”

Hermione nodded and took a sip of tea. Minerva did the same.

“Well, I’m interested to hear what Kingsley will have to say, but until we or the Ministry has contact with the Queen it all seems like talking around in circles, now that we know where we are. It seems like the independent study will get me ready to face the Wizengamot, and get me up to date with the history of the Pendragons, of which I know only the muggle fairy tales of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. Could either one of you give me the hundred-word summary of what it was the Regent of Avalon actually did that was so important? Or was it really just a figurehead or administrative position?”

“I recall only vaguely, as not having one it became less important. But in some way the Pendragon Regent was the tie that bound a peaceful Avalon together.”

Narcissa nodded. “This is true. I also had only vague impressions, but I’ve spent several hours doing some reading. I suspect but cannot confirm that there is blood magic having to do with the ley lines of the country. That is the only thing that makes sense to me, given what I’ve read thus far. But it may not only be this. And it may not even be this.”

“Are we absolutely certain there are no time turners left?” Hermione asked, suddenly quite sharp. “ _ Absolutely certain?”  _

Minerva thought quite a bit before speaking. “All the ones in the hall of time were broken, but I doubt they were disposed of. Likely they went to the Unspeakables. But those are just the ones that weren’t checked out. If anyone should get one upon request, it would be you, Hermione. I’ll bring it up with Kingsley gently, and I’ll let you know what he says. I think if we can get one by asking nicely, that should be done.”

“I have a broken one,” Narcissa quietly volunteered. “I would be willing to surrender it, should it become necessary, and if it could be repaired for your use.”

“Thank you,” Hermione said, and Minerva could tell she was quite touched by the offer. Really, Narcissa was doing very well at ingratiating herself and being useful. Time would tell if it was entirely genuine.

Hermione took a deep breath and then looked at the Headmistress.

“Minerva, I need help.”

She put her teacup down and raised her eyebrow. “Anything. I will always help you.”

Everyone put down their teacup.

Hermione was beginning to shake, and her eyes were filling with tears. Her words, when they came, were staggered and painful to hear.

“It’s just all so much. And I can’t do everything. And I can’t take the secrets. You were both right. Narcissa. Minerva. Please help me get my parents back.”

And then the story flooded out. Narcissa held her hand. Minerva’s heart broke to see the immensity of responsibility Hermione had taken on. When the storm had passed, Minerva spoke to the subject.

“I should like to share this project with Filius. You can be assured of his discretion. He would love to sink his teeth into this, believe me.”

“If he would permit it, I would like to consult with him,” Narcissa added. “I’ve had some ideas, though I still need to do a fair bit of research on the matter, and the time has not presented itself since I found out.”

“This- this is a horrible thing to ask. But if, if you end up making progress, would you, would you be willing to try it? Without me? I can give you their direction in Australia. I just, I just can’t see them again,” she said, now through a fresh wave of tears. “And fail, and leave with them still not remembering me.”

“Oh my dear, my dear Hermione,” Narcissa said. “Of course I will do this thing. I would do this, and a great deal more for you.”

“Thank you,” she said, ending on a hiccup. Minerva pressed a handkerchief into her hand. She wiped her eyes and blew her nose and faced the old matron once more. “Headmistress, I would like to resign my position as Eighth Year Prefect and would like to officially ask to have full freedom of movement on weekends and evenings, due to the heavy family responsibilities I now have.”

“Agreed. I ask only that you alert me through your elves when you intend to leave the castle and the approximate time of your return, and  _ that  _ you’ve returned. Your safety is no less important to me now, Miss Granger Black Pendragon.”

“Oh, that’s a mouthful,” Hermione pointed out, unpinning her prefect badge and handing it over. Minvera placed it on the table between them.

“May I suggest that you encourage people to pick one of your last names, and simply be answerable to them all? I know you have no wish to lose your parents’ name, nor should you.”

Hermione nodded, then murmured her assent.

“Do you like the sea, Hermione?” Narcissa asked, seemingly apropos of absolutely nothing, except in the service of changing the subject, which was welcome enough. 

The girl - the young woman - got a dreamy look on her face. “Yes, I do. Quite a bit, actually.”

“Excellent. The House of Black has many holdings, and I had always intended to ready one for your use. As it turns out you may end up having many houses, I would recommend the most beautiful and picturesque one Black has to offer for you. If you decide you need a London address and one doesn’t come with the Pendragon line, I can ready the other townhouse. It is not as large as Grimmauld Place. Though I fully intend to refinish a suite of rooms  _ in  _ Grimmauld Place for your use, to which I doubt the Potters will much object.”

Hermione snorted delicately. “Having given up a relaxing and comfortable summer vacation with my parents to go into that  _ hole _ and attempt to clean and exorcise it with nothing more than elbow grease and determination, I very much look forward to your efforts, Narcissa. I know Harry and Ginny are similarly grateful.”

Narcissa smiled and it was the most comfortable one Minerva had witnessed, yet. 

“Black Cottage at Ramsgate is larger than the name would suggest, I do believe it has ten bedrooms, but the sitting rooms are all quite informal. Still, I was thinking of doing a bit of renovation there, too, adding to it a private library and study space for you, now that I know how important it is to you. When you next have time I’ll walk you through it, and though renovation will be ongoing, I’ll make sure there is always a suite available for your use, should you need to get away.”

“That sounds lovely, Narcissa. I… would you mind terribly taking me early Saturday morning, if it’s not too much trouble? The prospect of getting away to the seaside when I need to is  _ remarkably _ appealing. Regardless of the condition of the cottage. It’s the condition of the sea that I’d like to take in.”

“Of course, Hermione. Shall we say eight? Or is that too early?”

Minerva watched benignly as the seas calmed and the plans continued. Then the clock struck ten.

She ended the meeting. The three witches, mother, maiden, and crone, all sought their own beds, each with minds a bit fuller, and hearts a bit lighter than before.


	8. Chapter 7: Wherein love is advanced apace.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione receives a letter and answers it immediately, which is how life ought to work, in her mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's possible you're really going to enjoy this chapter.

_ September 1, 199_  
_ _ The Rosary  
_ _ Vratsa, Bulgaria _

_ My dearest Hermione, _

_ I am not so inconstant in my care for you that the delayed writing of a letter, particularly when you have so many pressing concerns, will upset me so. Do I miss you? Terribly. Would I love to be in much closer contact with you? Without a single hesitation, yes. There is no need for me to forgive you, for you have done nothing wrong, my dearest one. And yet, in case you need to hear it, I forgive you for delaying your response. I know you had good reason. Now we can continue on, fresh. _

_ You did not address many things I said in my last letter, and I understand why. I look forward to hearing your opinion on all these things in your next letter. Take whatever time you need to write it, and make it long, for it will need to tide me over. I, unlike you, rarely get to see your beautiful face in the newspapers, and need your words as appropriate fodder for my fantasies. _

_ You know I hate those pictures, and they largely prefer I be half naked. I had no idea you consumed them with such relish, Myon. I might not be able to scowl quite so convincingly in the next photo shoot, and I might let the shirt come entirely off. They will finally get the picture they’ve long wanted; fierce, powerful, sexualized, and interested in what he sees. _

_ You may be cursed and broken, but neither of these things are permanent states. If you share more with me, I will help you. And if you refrain, I would still be here for you.  _

_ I have your book recommendations, and I thank you wholeheartedly. I shall order them tomorrow and have more fodder for my practice. You have read these, I take it? I hope if you have recommended them to me it is because you particularly like them. That is what I shall believe until you disabuse me of the notion. I am quite pleased that I will be in possession of some of your favorite books, or at least ones you think I might enjoy. I will report back on my progress. _

_ Mm, no, let us return to the photo and your imagination, shall we? Scowling at the camera in possession of a racing broom for a sport you do not care for, rough and inelegant, and you still find me edible? Can this be true, Myon? Perhaps I have been going about this all wrong. Still, it is these same arms that have held you once before that would do so again. It is this same chest in which my fierce heart beats that would give you strength and support. Everything has changed and nothing has changed, Myon. _

_ There is much darkness in your letter, too, so let me address some of that now. I’m glad you use the roses to good effect. And I’m glad that my letters bring you solace in the darkness. Myon, you will not always be this way. I know that these are just words, and just words are all I have as yet. But even if I held you in my arms (the overly muscled ones previously mentioned) and cradled you against my chest (wider than you remembered, but the same heart within), it would still be words. Words that you say to me in the quiet dark with the tears that fall. Words that I say to you to bring light back into your world. Words and gestures are all anyone has at the best of times, to let love and peace and light and joy back into our lives. And words are all I have now, my sweet and beautiful one, and they fail me again to assure you of the certainty I have that you will heal, in time. And if you cannot be sure, I will hold it for you. I will always hold it for you, Myon. _

_ You have lost weight. You were starved. I wish to hear this story, when you are ready to tell it. I hope, by then, you will be able to do so from the comfort and safety of my arms. And my heart does ache for you, but don’t let that stop you. It is a familiar pain to me at this point, and will only be assuaged by your healing, and your closer presence. I am glad at least that you are not starving now, nor are likely to be ever again. Eat your fill, Myon, and know that you are safe, now. _

_ There are many things we could say to each other, and perhaps a letter is a perfectly good place for difficult things to be written, rather than said. And yet, I, too, refrain from saying everything. Not because I do not want you to know. I do, Myon, I do. But because I would rather gauge your response moment by moment and so spare us both unnecessary anguish by saying the wrong things entirely, and then going on at length for several more pages yet. And so if that is written, then it is a long series of letters, tentatively inching toward what we do not say. _

_ And when we meet, if it is but for a few hours, perhaps letters will have to suffice, for a few hours is not enough for me to say even half of what I have refrained from saying, not and also hear half of what you might wish to impart. And as you are back in school, obviously you will not be visiting me any time soon. But I would still come to you. You are nineteen, or will be soon. Surely they will let you off campus for a day if you request it. Sundays are my day off, and Saturdays are simply impossible, as I have games every week until the postseason. I would beg a day off during the week, but that would not work for you, I think. Enter negotiations with your headmaster, Myon, I beg of you. And if I can have you only for a few hours in a cafe somewhere, I will take it without complaint. Please send me a day, and I will arrange the portkey. (Why be content to drool over a picture, Myon, when you can nibble on the real thing and discover edibility for yourself? Have you always had this penchant to nibble, and I just missed it when I had the golden opportunities before me for an entire year of my young life? What a stupid boy I was. Idiot child.) _

_ I want also to know the story of the injury on your arm. And names, Hermione. Who starved you? Who cursed you in such a lasting fashion? Who has been responsible for your woundedness, your brokenness? In your own time, of course, but I want to know. And if you prefer to share this, too, as I hold you close and remind you of the light, I will wait with great patience. _

_ I am glad you liked my last letter. I am so glad it will bring my presence closer to you when you need me most. Shall I give myself away entirely if I tell you I wish it was me? To wake you before the nightmare got out of hand. To hold you in the darkness, and take up the rose on your bedside table, to brush it against your lips and tell you to breathe, breathe, Myon. To assure you of light, even in the darkness with all of these words, and all of these gestures. To have you fall asleep again, but peacefully this time, resting in my embrace. I could make a fine pillow, I think. Consider the possibilities, Myon. Maybe not for the cafe, though. On second thought, if you declared it absolutely necessary for your wellbeing, I would strip to the waist in the middle of your capital and hold out my arms for you with a smile on my face. It is just one more service I offer, Myon. _

_ And now I hope I have made you smile. Go negotiate a time with your school and write back to me taking all of the luxurious hours you need on whichever sequential days. Tell me everything, Myon. Tell me what you love about being back at school. Tell me of your friends. Tell me of your parents. Tell me what you have done that your queen will shortly make you a knight. And definitely tell me about whatever beautiful dreams you have of me, for I am particularly interested in these. If you tell me of your beautiful dreams of me, I may be inspired to share one of mine, concerning your own bright self. _

_ No, that is not fair, to be such a tease. You have already told me that you drool over my promotional photos and imagine I hold you close. And I have told you that I have imagined you kissing that white concordia rose, breathing it in and having just a moment of peace. So it is my turn. _

_ I cannot get you out of my head, Myon. What one thing can I tell you when my every other thought is you? Should I tell you how most of my thoughts trend? Should I give you something tender and comforting? I have already said more than I intended in this letter, and so perhaps this is the portion where I whitter on needlessly for pages yet and make you uncomfortable. But I cannot imagine that the woman who wishes to nibble on me half naked as I smile at her with my hair being riotous and uncooperative (with or without broom, you understand, unless you particularly wish my hands restrained for private reasons of your own, Myon?) would be terribly uncomfortable knowing how much of her I wish to kiss. Lips, face, neck, hands, yes, naturally. Resisting is a herculean task, but I manage. But there is no piece of clothing you could wear that does not bar my way and cover another delectable morsel I wish to taste. Because how could I stop at kissing? I would need to taste, to bite, to suck and lick, to memorize and categorize and so refigure all my dreams based on what I learn from your skin. _

_ This is, I think, what they generally want me to convey in the photo shoots, but it did no good in the past, because I didn’t realize you would be watching. Now, is maybe not a problem. _

_ Write to me my dearest, most beautiful Myon, and tell me everything you dare. _

_ With all my heart,  
_ _ Viktor _

* * *

_ September 3, 199_  
_ _ Hogwarts Castle _

_ My own dearest Viktor, _

_ September 19th. It’s a Sunday. It’s my nineteenth birthday, actually, and I could do with some cheering that day. Come just after breakfast and stay until well after dinner, if you can. I’ll have so much to show you and I think it’s likely we’ll have so much to say. I’ll make sure we eat well, but beyond that, and the two places I want to show you, there will be no agenda. However, if you’re very, very lucky, you may get me up on your broom. I’d been thinking flying is a fear I need to get over. And I can think of no one else I’d feel safer with, not even Harry. _

_ So much has shifted and changed since my last letter five days ago. How can it only be five days? It feels like five years. Nothing bad though, this time. Or, at least nothing terrible. But when you see me, if all goes well, broken I will still be, but the curse will be gone. It’s an ugly, brutal thing, the cure. But I trust that it will work and I’m on day three of eight. It’s funny that healing only occurs under the right conditions. That might be a larger metaphor for life, if only I cared to examine it closely. _

_ But come the 19th. Tell me where your portkey will bring you and I’ll meet you there. Negotiations had already happened by the time I got your letter this morning, and I am at liberty at nights and on weekends, though I’m still resident in the castle and have to effectively sign in and out. They wish to ensure my safety, which I find novel. Still, their hearts are in the right place, and I have more liberty than the average student, even of my married and eighth year fellows. Because yes, there are three pairs of married students post-war in the castle, and Harry is one of them. He married Ginny Weasley, Bill’s youngest sibling and only sister. She’s a seventh year, and becoming quite a good friend. The others are acquaintances, fellow war veterans, classmates. _

_ None of us eighth years are in the standard dorms, of course. There would be no place for us. We’re in suites of three bedrooms, a shared sitting room, and a shared bath. I have quite a lovely private little room and I’m quite fond of it, despite its desperate lack of bookshelves. My suitemates are Harry and Ginny in one room and Neville Longbottom in the other. Neville, you may have noted is also an Order of Merlin, 1st Class and will be knighted with us presumably for organizing the resistance within the school last year, secreting targeted students away and keeping them safe in hidden rooms with little outside help. He also organized classes and teachers among the student body to keep everyone busy, out of trouble, and still learning useful things. Neville was, if you will, the hidden headmaster of Hogwarts last year, and all under pain of death if he was caught. _

_ The school was taken over, you see, by Tom and his gang of evil sods, and the headmaster was briefly our finest spy, whom we all thought had turned on us, but he kept a tight lid on things, he and Neville in their ways. He secretly worked to keep Neville alive and together they managed to keep any of the evil sods/newly appointed teachers from torturing or killing the students. I like to think he would have been knighted, had he survived. I couldn’t save him, though. I was close, but too late. One more regret. _

_ I wonder if you can knight someone posthumously. I’ll need to look into that. _

_ Presumably the three of us, Harry, Ron, and I will be knighted because we went on an unholy crusade to find and destroy all of the horcruxes Tom in his madness had made, and we did so. The last one was Harry. And yet he lives. Long story. _

_ No one starved me, directly. Indirectly, everything is Tom’s fault. Blame Tom. That’s what we’ve begun to do. And Tom is dead. Dead as a doornail. Really very dead this time. Bellatrix Lestrange tortured me, cruciatus, and carving me up with a cursed blade, in the sitting room of her sister’s mansion. She scribbled a derogatory epithet on my arm with it as she tried to get me to give up Harry. As if. Unfortunately for you, but not for my nightmares, Molly Weasley, Ginny and Bill’s mother, killed her in battle. I have other scars from this war. Some visible. The one across my chest, from the death eater Antonin Dolohov. Due to be kissed by dementors in the next several weeks. He’ll still breathe after that, but I wouldn’t call it life. _

_ My wand was snapped. I have a new one, now, but it’s not quite as nice as the old one, I think. Quite liked the old one. _

_ You know, I’m not usually this morose. I can keep it together with other people. I can lose myself in my studies, which of course I enjoy. And then it all seems fine. Everything is fine. I’m not a seething cauldron of emotional turmoil. I seem happy on the outside. My happy, normal, bossy self. Well, I’m trying to work on that, actually. But I just can’t seem to lie to you. Not that it necessarily feels like lying with other people. They’re just… not safe. It’s not safe to be truly honest, deeply real. I can only be a shallow little wading pool, and somehow I can lose myself in the wading pool and really for short periods of time it seems just as real as the ocean, and in its own way, it is. It really is. A little wading pool with its little rubber ducks of concern. No sharks. No merfolk bearing weaponry. No vengeful kraken. And no coral reef, either. No brightly colored little fishes. No ponderous whales singing. No puffins fishing like the birds they are flying through the water. No seals eating fish, and then being eaten themselves by killer whales. Just the one painted bobbing rubber duck with a painted on smile that will squeak on command if you squeeze just right. _

_ There is no wading pool with you. But with you there is also the sound of the surf, all night long, its soothing rhythm working some minor miracle in my soul. _

_ Thank you for the sound of the sea, Viktor. _

_ You wanted a long letter, but I want to send it immediately so I will more immediately get a response. Terribly selfish of me. I shall duly pause for tonight and return to the project tomorrow, and reread all of your recent letters in bed before I sleep, instead. It’s not much in the way of fantasy, but if I’m lucky, I’ll fall asleep midword and take you with me into the dreams, you and your voice and your strength and your safety and maybe this time it won’t be so dreadful. And if your strength and safety happen to be wrapped in pajama bottoms and nothing else? Who am I to complain? _

_ September 4, 199_ _

_ Sometimes things look better in the morning, and sometimes they don’t. Day four of eight in getting rid of this curse, and it’s good the elves ward my room against sound, because I scream my way through it and then faint afterwards. I can’t bear to write it down. There’s much I can’t find it in me to say. Some good things that I just don’t want to put down on paper, but want so desperately to tell you. Some dreadful things that I feel I might eventually be able to tell you, but none of them are things I particularly want to rush into. _

_ So saying, I’ll just tackle your letter of June 17th and give you some entirely overdue responses to what you’ve written.  _

_ I think I might want to go into politics after school. Not entirely sure what it will entail yet, but the picture is beginning to fill out. More in person. _

_ It’s possible I’m on board with letters not being able to convey quite everything one might wish them to convey. I’m sorry I didn’t come and visit you and your family this summer, but I am very much looking forward to you spending the day, or as much of it as you can manage, with me on the 19th. I’m really quite looking forward to finally getting a decent kiss. (I feel I should be entirely upfront about this, in case I’ve misread your intentions. You still have time to run.) And of course all of the private conversation. And I can’t possibly have a flying lesson through a letter. And one day, you will play your cello for me, and I will be entranced. I’m familiar with the piece you mentioned. My parents have a recording of it, and I grew up listening to things like it. I’m honored you think I’m like the first movement. It’s in a major key, isn’t it? I’d like a life in a major key. That’s what I really want for my future, Viktor. No more minor keys. In music they’re fine. In life, they’re despicable.  _

_ I would never wish you to feel desperate in any regards, but I find it slightly thrilling to know that you are desperate to see me. Are you really? Even with me as I am? I do feel as if something inside of me is somehow irrevocably broken, and I’m not trying to harp on the subject, but I would hate for you to feel you hadn’t been forewarned. _

_ Then again, I’ve watched two brave and beautiful men try to push away the women who adored them because they felt they were too broken, and both were entirely stupid and wrong about things. And they gave up many opportunities for great joy in their lives because they were thick-headed idiots. Before they eventually came around, that is. _

_ I don’t wish to be a thick-headed idiot, Viktor, and I also don’t wish you to be unaware of what mess you may end up with. There. I have warned you. You have been warned. Caveat emptor. _

_ Thank you for forgiving me. I think I need your forgiveness more than I could have ever imagined. _

_ So you want to hold me as I cry and rage, do you? I’ll see if I can’t accommodate you on the 19th. It may be inevitable, given that you are the ocean and I’ll be out of my wading pool for twelve hours. Shall I bring a hefty supply of pocket handkerchiefs, or is that something you’ll be doing? _

_ I would like there to be no misunderstanding between us, Viktor. But that would require many more words than either of us seems comfortable to clearly say. Beating around the bush has been fun, though. Sort of. Sometimes. Once I understood you were flirting with me. Or, perhaps more than flirting. _

_ And sometimes I’ve flirted back. And other times I’ve been terrified, because what if you really mean it? And what if you don’t? Both seem like prospects requiring much courage. Skipping over to your most recent letter… _

_ As you describe what they want of you in your photo shoot I’m both enraged on your behalf that they should be so violently and sexually objectifying you, and totally ashamed because I’d rather like to see those pictures, your body stripped to the waist, muscles rippling and gleaming, or whatever the bulging muscles of athletes naturally do when they’re being shown off to those who appreciate them. And whether your hands are up, down, hanging off your broom, tied to my bed (did I really write that? Yes, yes I did.) or otherwise engaged is a detail that concerns me slightly less. Slightly, because then I wonder if they’re otherwise engaged, what are those strong hands of yours doing? Several reasonable alternatives come to mind. I am directly involved with most and indirectly involved with the rest. At the present moment, one particular option has captivated my imagination, but it might be anything, really. And why should I dream of what you do alone when you think of me? And what your hands might need to do? And how the muscles of your arms look when you do it? The muscles of your abdomen? Why should I wonder how you sound? How you smell? How you taste? _

_ The fact that you said, ‘fuck’ during your explanation of quidditch does not help me in this instance, because now I can imagine you saying it, you see, and if you can say it for one thing, you can say it for another, and why wouldn’t you say it then? _

_ It’s like a song stuck in my head, constantly repeating just one long refrain. In this case, a one word litany, or perhaps two if I may be so bold as to put in my own nickname in there as well. Fuck. Myon. And I can hear you say it, the vowels rolling around your tongue, in the enviable position of being temporarily in your mouth, and the consonants. The hard ck that mimics the action so well, the f, m, n so soft, so sensuous, mimicking other things, perhaps.  _

_ It’s after breakfast and before my classes, and I’m not quite fit to attend them, and yet no time for anything else, I’m afraid. Rest assured that anytime my concentration slips in class this morning, it will be your voice I hear. _

_ Strangely glad all the professors who were legilimens are now dead. Well, that’s a first. And remarkably dark, as thoughts go. Sorry about that. More later. Of which variety, I do not know. _

_ Afternoon _

_ I love arithmancy and ancient runes. I love that the numbers work or they don’t, and if they don’t you know it’s just wrong. There’s no finesse. There’s no subtlety. It’s just black and white. And if you learn enough rules, and here a further study of non-magical mathematics has helped enormously, you know which to apply when and the equations just flow. It’s easy to spot mistakes. It’s easy to fix them. I love that you can create new spells and potions through inspiration and intuition if you’re very good at it, but you can also run the arithmancy calculation to see what would be necessary, first. I mean, originally it was used for divination, but I don’t think that is its strongest function. _

_ And I love the longevity of ancient runes. I love the idea of words of power. Which reminds me, Frank Herbert, author of  _ _ Dune _ _. Words of power come into play and arcane concepts of how to run giant, self-serving cons on entire civilizations through the use of religion, but that’s neither here nor there, because in the end the con was on the con artists because he really was the messiah. Anyway. Ancient runes. Spells that outlast the caster. It’s a beautiful thought, isn’t it? To make a useful, beautiful mark on the world, instead of a scar of pain and hatred? _

_ That’s why I want to go into politics, by the way. I had been thinking of it before the events of August 31st, but in a minor way. Maybe try to get on the Hogwarts Board of Governors so I could help to shape the curriculum, which of course in turn would shape absolutely everything in Magical Britain, eventually. _

_ Turns out I have a hereditary seat on the Wizengamot (Magical Britain’s adjudicatory body). And I think I’ll be a shoe-in for the HBoG. And there are other things. I hope it all turns out to be in a major key. More in person. _

_ I find your quidditch tactics admirable. Let all the fucking of peoples heads be in sport, and not in war. Do continue, and please feel free to swear with me whenever you like. I think I’m going to like how your lips wrap around the words. _

_ I find your quidditch training technique questionable. Is it absolutely necessary to risk breaking your neck at 21 just for the fuck of it? Have you nothing better to live for, Vitya? No other way to relieve stress? I realize I am no model of self-care over here, but really. _

_ You’re hinting that you’d move to Britain, aren’t you? God, I’m torn. I want you near me so badly. And I don’t, I absolutely don’t want you to be distant from your parents. They’re so precious, you should be with them. No, I can’t even think about it right now. _

_ Tell me what other kind of roses your family grows, and send me some of those, if you can. I wouldn’t mind being surrounded by roses that will never fade, you know, if they all have that trait. And they smell so beautiful. I walk into my bedroom and I’m calmer. I’m a big fan of the Bulgarian white concordia rose. _

_ You studied English for me, didn’t you? And so you could work easily in Britain. Well, your letters are a work of art and the words do seem to come more easily to you now. Thank you, Viktor. You are clearly a very dedicated man, in addition to your other fine qualities. _

_ I’m glad you’re considering a mastery after quidditch. Your mind is too fine to squander. Tell me which branches of magic fascinate you most right now. I won’t hold you to anything, of course. I understand. The future is in flux. _

_ My friends find it revolting you are so talented, though they mean it in the best of ways. An athlete, a scholar, a polyglot, and a musician. They say we deserve each other and will have outrageously intelligent children. I generally choke on my tea at this point. For myself, I find it inspiring that you are so talented. I love it. _

_ Your life is boring. You do what you love and get paid well for it, you are surrounded by family, you are immersed in your studies and your music, and you are surrounded by beauty and life and flowers. I’m so envious of you, Viktor. I’m so bloody envious. Don’t you dare say your life is boring. Your life is idyllic. _

_ Send more roses. I clearly need them. Either that, or I need you. But the roses will have to suffice for now. _

_ Tumultuously yours,  
_ _ Hermione _

* * *

_ September 6, 199_  
_ _ The Rosary  
_ _ Vratsa, Bulgaria _

_ My dearest Hermione, _

_ Thank you for your letter. Thank you for its length, its contents, and the time you took to write it.  _

_ First, your roses. These are also the long-stemmed, everlast concordia, but in a pale peach. There are also pale yellows and pale lavenders, but I do not like these for you. The white is best with the strongest fragrance and the purest petals, and the pale peach is second best. With the colors come a weakening of the fragrance and a lessening of the primary effect of the flowers. They do not create calm where calm cannot be. They entice you back to the calm of which you are capable. They help you remember, and from the calm there is a finer meeting of minds, a finer melding of hearts, hence the name. We mostly grow the concordia, and there are different varieties. The long-stemmed ever-last is best for gifts where the flowers are cut from the plant. The ever-blooming, with its smaller blooms and shorter stems are better for the foundation of a garden. The ever-blooming climber must be trained very carefully, or it could take over an entire castle, under the right or perhaps wrong conditions. I can grow them all, of course. It is illegal to export the plant as such, as it has been declared a national treasure of Magical Bulgaria, but since so few know how to propagate them properly, it is not illegal to export cuttings, nor the flowers themselves. And I can propagate from cuttings, possibly in my sleep at this point. _

_ I would grow you a rose garden, Hermione. Wherever it is you settle when you leave school. Wherever you go. Whatever is between us or not. I would grow you a rose garden, to help you find peace when it seems so distant. I never want that for you. _

_ You will note in this package there are two other things. One is a very small white everlast condordia still tightly in bud, and cut short. The other is a silver brooch that can hold it. The silver must be cleaned by hand, or by elf, and two drams of water must be put in it every morning for the flower, again, by hand or by elf. No magic. The roses don’t like it. The rose can be taken out every evening and put in a bowl of water. It is a little tedious, perhaps, but it will allow you take a little bit of peace of mind, and a little bit of me with you through your days. The brooch is one of many that we have in our family, which perhaps does not surprise you. This particular one was a favorite of my grandmother’s. I hope you like it. I imagine you pinning it to your sweater, the rose gently covered by those ridiculously thin cloaks you wear. And still its fragrance will waft toward you and remind you of a calmer way of being. Out of uniform, perhaps just slightly, but Hogwarts seems much more lax about that sort of thing than ever Durmstrang was, so I do not worry for you in the slightest. _

_ My sweet and strong Hermione. I have been forewarned. Consider it done. _

_ So you are considering what sort of children we would have? Better and better. They would be fiercely intelligent and ferociously courageous, both. They would be wonders as adults and terrors as children, I am certain. We would do well to be prepared for this, beautiful one. _

_ Yes, of course I studied English for you. As for playing on an English side, I knew enough at seventeen to get by. But then I quite suddenly had a very strong motivation to do more than get by. I have spent much time with a tutor, quite intensely for the first two years, and then more periodically as I began to really improve in the last two years. Translations were the worst, after memorizing all the rules of grammar. I think reading aloud has done the most to perfect my speech and help me use the language more easily. And at some point it just seeped into my bones, something inside shifted, and it was mine. _

_ Still, I had to look up the word adjudicatory. _

_ So, you, a muggleborn witch, have a hereditary seat on your country’s panel of judges. I find this fascinating, Myon. Odd stories have been reported about you, even in Bulgaria. It is hard to know what is true. I look forward to hearing all about it in thirteen days. _

_ And yes. I will come and visit you on the 19th, and as you are planning the day, I will come bearing gifts. I have an international portkey that will take me to the Leicester Portkey Station, which I am assured is roughly in the center of your country. I will come in at 9:14 AM and leave at 9:36 PM. Compared to a few hours in a cafe, twelve and a quarter hours is a luxury I am thrilled to have, sweet Myon. And yet I know it will pass so quickly and leave me aching for your presence once more. _

_ And now that I know you have freedom to leave the school at nights and on weekends, my dearest one, I must be closer to you. I must. Do not worry about my parents. They will visit in the winter, and I will visit in the summer. Perhaps you will come with me? Summer is a ways away yet, and you have much time to consider your options. But I would like to show you the fields of roses, and the house, and even the dogs, if you are amenable, though not everyone likes them. _

_ I did not imagine you would enjoy learning about my various training techniques, but it is not something I would keep from you. I promise to be careful, Myon, and when my reflexes begin to slow, I will cease such dangerous practices and consider retiring from quidditch altogether, I promise. Even if this happens earlier than I suspect. I love it, but there are other things I love, as well, and some are more important. _

_ I enjoyed hearing about your perspectives on arithmancy and ancient runes. It is fascinating to me that there is an underlying logic, of a sort, to magic, which seems in many ways so illogical to those thusly minded. And I understand completely the fascination with magic that survives the caster. There are other branches of magic that speak to this ability, in addition to ancient runes, but I am not sure they are taught at Hogwarts, or even much respected in Britain. Of course Durmstrang has no such qualms and often teaches light and dark magic together so that there is a balance of knowledge and an awareness of where the lines are that cannot be crossed. _

_ I think I would like to study non-magical mathematics as you have. It seems like it could be very helpful. _

_ And now, into the darkness. I am honored to be your ocean, Hermione. I do understand the pull of the wading pool, and it certainly has its uses. It is good to take a dip in the ocean, to purge some pain and feel refreshed, and hear the pull of the surf. Most of life is conducted in the wading pool, however, and this too I wish to share with you. (Rubber ducks - is that a muggle hunting thing? Or just a metaphor? Tell me everything, Hermione.) It will get better. I promise you. And peace will not be so far away, and safety will not be a laughable, novel idea. The curse will soon be ended and the brokenness will heal. It will, my darling. It will. _

_ And now to lovelier and brighter things, as you would say. _

_ I sleep naked. _

_ I thought you should know.  _

_ Since you are imagining me, imagining you, I feel this is necessary information at this point. And my legs are also quite muscled, likewise my back. Even in the depths of a Bulgarian winter, thoughts of you fill my veins with fire until I cannot stand the covers and blankets anymore, and I throw them all off. Do I have the boldness to describe what I do to myself then?  _

_ I don’t remember you as I met you last year. You looked so troubled, even before things ended badly. You were not yourself, and how could you be? So I reach back and think of the girl you were, even as I know you are different now, different in ways I didn’t have an opportunity to catalogue last year. I think of your school skirt, which you still wear. I think of your legs, so luscious. I think of your hair, how full and luxuriant it is, how beautiful it smells. I think of the fire and passion in your eyes when you are explaining or defending something you believe in. I think of your hands. Your lips. Your neck. Any one of these things, really, is enough to focus on. And today, today I will imagine that you are watching me with those passionate eyes, watching and learning to see how I touch myself. Comparing and contrasting what you’ve seen in the photographs as I lay back on my pillows and watch you watching me, my arm moving rhythmically, my hand squeezing just so. And perhaps, perhaps you like what you see. Perhaps I please you. I can imagine your lips parting, your tongue darting out to wet them, your teeth worrying the bottom. And that is enough for all the muscles in my body to tighten all at once. That is enough for me to find an exquisite release, if only momentarily. Just your lips, parted and wet. This is all accomplished silently, as I am at home, but my head is full of loud groans and expletives in many languages, and your name. Always your name, Myon. _

_ Fuck. Myon. Fuck. Myon. Fuck, Myon. Fuck Myon. _

_ I approve of this litany. Were I in circumstances where I could set wards without having my parents be naturally suspicious, this would be the chant of my body. _

_ I did a photo shoot today, after practice ended a little early for me, against the backdrop of the other roses we cultivate (the red empassionatas), for a magazine in France. An interview, too, though it was fairly meaningless, I did get to mention that I would be open to trades, particularly British teams, and this is very good, should any British managers actually read it or catch wind of it. They will send me a copy, and I will send it on to you. I was uncharacteristically shameless and I think they were not-so-secretly overjoyed. Just as well the interview was before the photos, or it might have taken a more personal turn than usual. Regardless, when they asked me to take my shirt off, I did. When they asked me to unbuckle my belt and have the top two buttons of my trousers open, I did. When they arranged my trousers to look like they would very shortly fall off my hips to reveal that I wore nothing underneath, I allowed it. And when they asked me to make love to the camera (they are very clear about these things, the French), I thought of you looking at this photograph, or series of them, I suppose, and suddenly I did not care who else saw it, because you would, and you were the only one who mattered. _

_ You may judge for yourself when you see the article whether or not I succeeded in bringing the camera to orgasm or not. This matters less to me. What matters more, of course, is if I succeeded with you. This I would like to know, and preferably in great detail. _

_ Your temporarily shameless,  
_ _ Viktor _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...thoughts?


	9. Chapter 8: Wherein the Queen is annoyed by paperwork.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reigning monarchs of the British Isles have known about the wizarding world since there were monarchs in the isles, but largely not bothered much with it in some time. Until now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back before I wrote the prologue, and added more Viktor content to the beginning of the story, this was where my husband finally got on board with loving the story. It remains his favorite chapter of the early ones, even though he loves the story entirely now. He is thrilled for you to read it. So am I.

_A letter to the fair Monarch of this beautiful Isle of Avalon,  
from the last Scion of the most royal and majestic house of Pendragon, Maria,  
in this year of Our Lord, 998, and the 56th year of Maria III, the Pendragon Queen Regent of Avalon. _

_Greetings and fair tidings to you and your house and all your descendants. May your years be long and peaceful in our mutual home. We write this letter for the express intent of the reading and education of your descendants, for it is the way of history to pass into fire-side tales, and thus remembered only dimly. We do this hoping to bring no offence, for our relationship was ever one of concordiality and mutual care one for the other._

_I am dying, my dearest friend, and none of my sons have survived, and the one daughter who has retains only the spark of her power, and not the raging fire. It is enough, I am assured by my advisors, for the line to carry on and rekindle at some point in the misty-veiled future, but it is not enough for her to take up the line of Merlin unbroken and bear the weight and responsibility of maintaining peace and prosperity amongst those portions of your subjects who bear the power of fire in their veins. As much as I wish she could, it is impossible for her, so think not on it._

_One day, I promise you, a woman or man of fire who will be my descendant will return to you, you who now rule the most beautiful of Isles, and I implore you on their behalf, however much you do not know, or do not remember; do not reject her. Accept her and bestow on her the Regency of Avalon once more, and the Pendragon Castle and Lands, of which I have included a map for your reference. I weep to consider the pains of my sweet Avalon in the coming decades or even centuries, for certainly there will be distrust and war where once there was concordia and peace. The Centaurs and Elves weep with us._

_We have made some provision to maintain peace and concord, but relying on the goodwill of many has never borne reliable fruit in the past, and we do not anticipate the tree becoming suddenly fruitful just because we wish it so._

_We have left detailed instructions with the Goblins in our Vault, so you need not fear my descendant will be unprepared to shoulder her inherited responsibilities._

_I have asked that news of my death be carried to you, for the Castle and Lands will revert to you for safekeeping. I beg you not to parcel them out to retainers, but keep the entirety in reserve for posterity. I will have removed all of my personal items, and all items of a fiery nature to my vault. Most of them are already there, and the Goblins have their instructions after my death._

_I beg you to support in every way you are able my posterity when she arrives. In aid of this, you will find it hard to lose this letter, hard to destroy it, and impossible for it to be stolen. It will turn up for each of your heirs, and at the right time, when the dearest of my little Pendragon grandchildren knows herself, it will plague you until you do your duty by those subjects of yours within Avalon, the place of glory, wonder, and magic._

_Given in my own hand, signed in blood, and sealed in fire,  
_ _Maria III  
_ _62nd Pendragon Regent of Avalon_

* * *

An old, elegant woman picked up a phone in her office.

“We wish to speak with the Prime Minister, please.”

“Yes, Ma’am. I’ll get him on the line. Just one moment, Ma’am.” There was a pause, and a crackling on the line as the call was transferred.

“Good morning, Your Majesty. How may I help you today?”

“Good morning, Prime Minister. We require that you procure the _Other_ Minister and put him on the line. Do tell him not to shout this time.”

“Y-yes, Ma’am. Would you prefer to be put on hold, or shall I call you back? I’ve no idea how long this might take. Though their war is over, so it shouldn’t be two weeks this time.”

“A return phone call would be most appreciated. I am currently in my office. Kindly alert me to any significant delays.”

“Yes, Ma’am. Thank you for your call.”

The old, elegant woman hung up the phone and looked again at the stack of papers in front of her. Yet again, despite her frequent reshuffling, the ancient document was on the top. She put it at the bottom, underneath her transcription of the letter in a language unknown to her, Old Welsh, she’d been told, and the translation she’d had back only an hour ago. An hour in which it was impossible to do any work, for every single paper, every book she looked at, had the ancient document laying on top. Actually, it had been like this for the last two days. She could move it aside, but if she took her eyes away for a moment to attend to something else, when her eyes returned, the document was on top again.

This, clearly, would continue until she did her duty by Avalon, as Wizarding Britain apparently once called itself. How very whimsical.

She remembered this letter. It had been in the very first dispatch case when she returned from Africa, after Papa had died. She had asked about it but no one had given her an answer, and in fact, no one had admitted to putting it in the case. And further, no one else could see any writing on it at all. While she had been mildly curious at the time, Elizabeth had thought of it very little in the intervening decades, despite the fact that it had seemed to live at the bottom of the case since then.

And now she knew why.

Once and future king, indeed.

* * *

“Ma’am, the report you requested on the forest preserve in Wales has arrived."

“Excellent. Thank you. Will you bring me the catalog of the Crown Jewels, please?”

“Yes, Ma’am, right away.”

It arrived, and after shuffling the ancient document out of the way, she flipped through the pages. Yes. There. A gold signet ring with a two-legged dragon rampant. She continued to scan the index carefully for anything bearing a dragon. There! A torc of wrought gold twisted into rope, adorned with amber, turquoise, amethyst, and quartz crystal, with the wrought gold figure of a two-legged dragon rampant. There was no crown or coronet. Elizabeth checked three times. She took a sip of her tea and considered it. Neither item adorned with dragons was on display or had been in the last three hundred years, it seemed. They would not be missed. But no. It would not do. There must be a crown. She returned to the index, removed the ancient document laying atop the open book, and set out to see what was in storage and would not be missed. Surely there would be something appropriate to the occasion.

When she found it, she made a note of it and set about to writing some letters, and documenting the events in the private journal she was keeping for Charles. Some things may have passed into fond legend, but Elizabeth was determined that when Charles ascended to the throne, he would be ready. And Avalon was not something to be sprung on a person wholesale.

* * *

The phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Ma’am, I have the _Other_ Minister here with me.”

“Excellent. Thank you. Do put him on. Minister Shacklebolt, permit me to cut to the quick. Are you aware that the last scion of Pendragon has appeared?”

“Yes, Your Majesty. I’m… surprised you’re already aware of the fact. We were only notified two days ago, and the young lady in question knew only fifteen hours earlier than that.”

“Have you met with her?”

“Not on this subject, not yet. But I know her personally. She’s a war heroine. Brave, fearless, intelligent, compassionate. She had been captured and tortured in the war, before she escaped. And Your Majesty was due to knight her in the Order of Merlin in six weeks.”

She thought back to the list. There was only one woman on it. “You speak of the eighteen year-old... Hermione Granger?”

“Yes, Miss Granger, or should I say, the Viscountess of Black as she now is, is finishing her final year at our premier school of witchcraft and wizardry, as the war interrupted the schooling of many of our young veterans.”

“Her desire to finish her schooling is most admirable. We have items that have been kept for her that we wish to return at the earliest possibility. We shall be prepared to do so on Tuesday at eight in the evening. She will call upon us at Buckingham where we are currently in residence. You may expect a call at ten in the morning the following day on this phone to discuss other important things of mutual concern.”

“Yes, Ma’am. I’ll let Hermione know and I look forward to the call.”

“Until then, Minister Shacklebolt.”

“Goodbye, Your Majesty.”

Elizabeth hung up the phone and made another note for her secretary, after she moved the ancient document, again. Then she began drafting the first of several proclamations. After she moved the ancient document. 

Again.

* * *

A very young woman in a black suit came in with her mother just behind. Elizabeth rose and beckoned them forward toward her where she sat, a tea service having arrived only moments before. The door behind them shut and the two women came closer.

“Lady Hermione. You and your mother are very welcome. Come and join me for tea. We have much to discuss.”

“I-” Elizabeth watched the young woman falter and wondered at it. Her mother took her gently by the elbow, and she seemed to find her voice again. “I’m terribly sorry, Your Majesty. My parents were unavailable, as they are still in deep hiding and have not yet been retrieved from their protection. Instead I’ve brought Lady Narcissa Malfoy, the Countess of Black, who has named me her heir.”

Well, that was unexpected. “I see. Well, you are very welcome, Countess Black. Do sit down, both of you.”

There was silence while she poured out tea with only murmurings as regards to cream or lemon.

“I have been charged, Lady Hermione, by your many-great grandmother, Maria III, the 62nd Pendragon Regent of Avalon, to return to you many things that have been unwittingly in my keeping. I intend to do this presently. There is a castle and some land in Wales. It is on our register as the Pendragon Royal Forest Preserve. Of course, I cannot verify that there is a castle, or still a castle, for there is none in the official record, but I imagine I might not be able to see it even if I wished to do so. All the same, I have been assured by your ancestor many things, including the presence of a castle. I have drawn up a proclamation that will make you and your descendants or named heirs caretakers of the land in perpetuity, and I have relocated the staff which once resided there. I trust you will take possession of the land in whichever ways you are able to and offer it what protection you can from intrusion as soon as possible. Camping and trekking had been moderately popular there, but of course I have called a halt to that for you.”

Elizabeth paused to drink her tea. It was a lot of talking, and her throat was somewhat dry.

“Thank you, Ma’am.”

She nodded and took another sip of the soothing hot tea.

“There was a ring and a torc that clearly belonged to your family stored among the Crown Jewels. Those will be returned to you as well. If there was anything else, it has either been lost, for which I do apologize, or it was not given to my predecessors. I understand Maria the third died on or after the year nine hundred ninety-eight, and I am rather proud, all things considered, that we managed to maintain what we have for the last thousand years.”

The young lady grinned. “Thank you very much, Ma’am.”

“Now. That is the end of the return of things that by rights ought to be yours. I’ll have the jewelry and proclamations brought in momentarily. But now to the return of something I want to be yours. Will you accept the Regency of Avalon, Lady Hermione?” 

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Excellent. Come here, my dear.” She put her teacup down and did so. “You must kneel, I’m afraid.” She did so, her eyes wide, which made Elizabeth feel much better about the entire thing. It looked like she was taking it seriously. “By the power invested in me by our Lord God Almighty, I, Elizabeth the Second of the House of Windsor name you, Hermione Pendragon, Queen Regent of Avalon. May you serve your country, your Queen, and your brothers and sisters in health and long life. Rise, Queen Hermione.”

There. That should satisfy the requirement. Now she could get actual work done without wrestling that ancient document. Elizabeth rang the bell and the door opened with her secretary bearing a stack of leather boxes, including her dispatch case. They were all set down on the table, the smallest ring box on top and her bright red leather dispatch case just underneath. Now would be the test.

She removed the small leather box and set it next to the tea service. Elizabeth had quite intentionally placed the ancient document at the bottom of the pile in her case. If she opened it up and it was on the top, then there was still more to be done.

She opened the case.

The proclamation naming Hermione Jean Granger Black Pendragon the Pendragon Queen Regent of Avalon, 63rd of a line unbroken, etc, etc, was on the top of the pile. 

The Queen let out an imperceptible sigh of relief.

* * *

Elizabeth watched with interest as the elder of the two women before her murmured a gentle request and took one proclamation, and then the other and held them gently in one hand, while in another she pulled from her sleeve a stick of wood - a magic wand, obviously, though she’d not seen one that would actually work magic in nearly fifty years - out of her sleeve. The wand was clearly longer than the sleeve would allow, but that, she supposed, was magic.

Several words intoned. Several gestures made. Hardly any sparks, but a bit of glowing did occur. One document, then the other. And then she handed them back.

“Just a precaution, Ma’am,” the Countess said to her. “They’re much more durable, now.”

“Thank you, Narcissa,” the young Queen Regent replied.

The leather boxes remained unopened on the table, as yet.

“Your Majesty,” the young Queen Regent began, “would it be at all possible for me to refrain from exercising the rights and responsibilities until after I finish this year of schooling?”

Elizabeth looked at her with kind eyes. “No.”

There was silence in the room, save the ticking of the mantel clock, which was suddenly quite audible, indeed.

She continued. “The matters of state do not wait for us to finish what we’ve begun, no matter how sensitive, important, or painful. They pile up inexorably. It is true that Avalon has been without a Regent for a thousand years. But I will not make Her wait one more year when it is in my power to make this thing right, now.”

She watched as the young lady took a deep breath, then controlled her exhale. It happened another three times. Then she spoke.

“What are the responsibilities I have to you, Ma’am?”

“First, you will call me Elizabeth, and I will call you Hermione.”

She watched Hermione visibly swallow. “Thank you, Elizabeth.”

“Second, you will create a system by which we may correspond privately and easily. I trust taking pen to paper is not too old fashioned for you?”

The young regent grinned quickly, then it was gone. “Not at all. I’ll figure out something.”

“Third, you will keep me appraised of what is occurring in Avalon, and I will guide you if I am able. I have had enough of being kept in the dark. That ends, today.”

She blinked. “Yes, Ma’am. Elizabeth. Ma’am.”

“Finally, as soon as you have managed to create our private mail system, we shall discuss at length the plans for your coronation. I would like it to be as soon as is reasonable. And then you shall knight your compatriots, though the date for that may be pushed back. It should be no sooner than two weeks after your coronation, but two months might be a better time.”

She murmured her assent, then asked permission to ask a question, which she duly received.

“On what basis were you to knight us? I mean, them?”

“Upon the recommendation of the _Other_ Minister. Your Minister.”

The regent’s eyes were suddenly far away, and somewhat haunted, and Elizabeth remembered what war was like.

“I am sorry for all your losses, Hermione,” she said softly.

After a moment of quite intentional silence, the Countess spoke gently into the room filled only with the space of ticking, ticking, ticking Time.

“I know the best way to make this correspondence take place. I can procure most of the materials, though Hermione, you should charm the items yourself. Always. Let no other do it for you. But we will need to borrow an item from you, Your Majesty. It needs to be something hereditary, something that belongs to the Monarchs of the Isle. That way you and your heirs may use this same method in the same way.”

Elizabeth reached for the leather boxes. “Excellent. I was intending to make this a permanent loan, regardless.” She peeked into the large top box, but it was the torc. She put it aside and picked up the second leather box, and handed it over without opening it. “I suspect your grandmother Maria did without, but you shall not.”

The elderly, elegant woman watched as the youngest opened the box and went just slightly slack-jawed.

“It was the one worn by Henry the Fifth. He, too, had to grow up quickly. He, too, knew what it was like to fight a war.”

Hermione clasped a hand over her mouth and her eyes welled with tears.

“I see you know his story. Good. May his spirit live on in you, Hermione. Keep the crown safe, and bring it to your coronation when the time comes. And these you will also need, I suspect. Take them, now.”

Hermione picked up the ring box, first, and opened it.

“Put it on,” the Countess urged. “Always wear it. We will analyze it later.”

The young woman did as she was told and slipped the ring onto a finger on her right hand. Then she took up the final box.

“Morgana’s Torc,” the Countess breathed out in quiet astonishment, perhaps as much as Hermione had displayed for Henry’s crown. For the Torc, Hermione merely looked curious, and it made Elizabeth herself curious about what stories Hermione had heard, and what stories the Countess had heard, and why there might be a disparity between them.

“Wear this only when you would also wear the crown, I think, and do not try it on until we have thoroughly analyzed the magic. We might want a cursebreaker to look at it. Without alerting the Goblins that we have it again. This should never go in the vault,” she said, and it all came out a whisper. And somehow, Elizabeth was not surprised to hear confirmation that goblins should exist. Of course they would. Elves and fairies would be next, naturally. And then unicorns, gryphons, and dragons.

Certainly, though, the modern world would have noticed _dragons._

The meeting was winding up. Before they left, Elizabeth offered them her copies of the original letter she had been left, the map she copied, and her original translation. She had made a copy of it, with a copy of the map, in her journal for Charles, and that would be enough for them. All the papers went into the leather box with Henry’s crown, and all three leather boxes went into the Countess’ ridiculously tiny leather clutch, and Elizabeth watched _that_ with interest.

Magic. It seemed to make life more whimsical, but no less dangerous or painful, if Hermione’s haunted eyes were anything to go by.


	10. Chapter 9: Wherein Hermione has many meetings.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At this rate, she will actually need a secretary, or three.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Another day, another chapter!

Hermione’s head was in a whirlwind.

When she had returned from her trip to Buckingham Palace, Narcissa had left her at the gate to Hogwarts. The older woman reminded her that she could call her elves if she wished to save the walk, but it was obvious to Hermione that a walk to clear her head would do her good.

Narcissa handed over the three leather boxes and Hermione placed the smallest one in her beaded purse. The other two she held reverently as she went.

She tried not to think of anything at all, because it was all pressing down fast and hard. As of this evening, for an entire week she had been Hermione Jean Granger Black Pendragon, which meant that she now had the same number of names as Albus Dumbledore.

Last weekend’s _Quibbler_ front page had been taken up by Harry and Ginny’s marriage, with a full half-page spread covering the announcement of _The Daily Quibble._ Luna said that already she had two dozen major subscribers and another three dozen minor subscribers. Narcissa had insisted on the Black vault funding the Pendragon subscription, and Hermione didn’t argue. The Cousins, as Luna had taken to calling them, were confident that in three months they would have the first daily issue out. December 1st was their goal. It had been decided that Luna would be the editor-in-chief for both media, but that The Cousins would be the managing editors of the _Quibble,_ since that was their passion, and Luna would be the managing editor of the _Quibbler,_ because that’s where hers lay.

And next weekend’s _Quibbler_ would lay it all out. Interviews with Narcissa, with Minerva, with Kingley, with Neville, Ron, and Harry… and with her. And very probably a copy of the proclamation would now be included. Knowing Luna, she _might_ include a picture of Morgana’s Torc, though to be perfectly honest, stunning workmanship aside, it was _the crown worn by Henry the Fifth_ which had Hermione agog.

She’d always liked that play.

Oh, now that was a thought. She could get Narcissa a really beautiful leather-bound set of the complete works, because Narcissa obviously wasn’t as impressed as she ought to be.

Hermione made a mental note the next time she was out to get a home delivery subscription to _The Times._ Excellent Shakespeare was always being produced somewhere, and Hermione was going to avail herself of it.

She wondered what Draco might think of it, and then she wondered at her wondering.

Admittedly, she had sent him a jar of Kalamata olives - the twins said they were his favorite, and had procured a jar at her request - and he had some days later sent back a jar of fresh olive tapenade which several at the Gryffindor table devoured immediately on toast. And it hadn’t even been poisoned, or dosed. It was just _delicious._

Hermione had been out of ideas at that point, but it seems like the olive branch had been duly accepted. Instead she sent a thank you note the next morning, which had been today.

It felt strange, enjoying this light-hearted banter with him, just like it felt strange enjoying her new cottage by the sea, which needed a bit of updating perhaps, but had breathtaking views. And it felt strange leaning on Minerva and Narcissa. 

Hermione was so used to having the buck stop with her. It was strange, and beautiful, and really very _strange_ to have such comforts, such resources, such _support._

Hermione took a deep breath, and then another, and then another, and then another.

The night was gentle and kind to the new Regent of Avalon, and stars that had predicted it all lit her pathway back home.

She didn’t see the Centaurs who came to the edge of the forest to watch her pensive march, nor did she see the heads of the Merfolk rise in silence out of the water to do the same. And she didn’t _expect_ to be met by _far too many house elves to count_ out on the front lawn.

“Hello. Lovely evening,” she remarked, stopping her progress _because there were half a hundred elves in her way._

“ _You?”_ One of them at the front said, apparently stunned.

Hermione didn’t quite know what to make of this, but thought an apology might be a good beginning. “I’m not sure why you’re all gathered here, and I’m sorry to have interrupted whatever excellent thing you had been doing. I also would like to take this opportunity to apologize for my difficult and insulting actions several years ago. I had only meant at the time to ensure that no one was serving under duress or without recourse. I apologize very whole-heartedly for blundering about in things I knew nothing of. Now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s a bit late and-”

“ _You are Miss Pendragon?”_

“Oh dear,” Hermione breathed out. “Keeping that under wraps until the news breaks officially on Saturday, please. May I ask how you found out?”

“Mistress wears the ring.”

Hermione looked at the second signet ring, the one on her right hand. Then she looked out at the crowd of elves and the gravity of the situation dawned.

“Oh. I see.”

“We are ready, Mistress.”

“Oh. Excellent. What are you ready for?”

“We are ready to return to The Seat, Mistress. We have kept it ready for you, Mistress.”

Hermione blinked. “For a thousand years?” she asked, and her voice came out very small, indeed.

“Yes, Mistress. Every year we visit. We strengthen and renew the wards, clean and polish, repair and maintain, and then we tell the story, Mistress, so the young ones know. Every year, mistress.”

“When do you usually go?” Hermione asked, her overwhelment shoved out of the way by her desire to learn more about this fascinating tradition.

“November 1st, Mistress. But we are ready to go with you now, Mistress.”

Hermione’s eyes blew wide, her overwhelment catching up and trouncing her intellectual fascination in one blow.

“I… thank you… for your… vigilance… and… preparedness. I am… very grateful. I am not… prepared to leave Hogwarts to… return… to… The Seat. Yet. I will be finishing my year of tuition here at Hogwarts. May I inquire after your name?”

“I am Grims daughter of Gills daughter of Mory, Mistress. I am head of the Hogwarts Elves, but I will give that up. I have been the secret head of the Pendragon Elves since my mother died.”

Hermione blinked.

“Grims, what proportion of the Hogwarts elves are made up of Pendragon elves?”

“Nearly half, Mistress.”

“I see. Yes. Well. Alright. Grims, I am grateful for your leadership, and for that of your mother before you. I have much to plan and prepare before I am ready to take my Seat. I would like, in the meantime, to come to know you all, and of course I have many questions. Therefore I would like to speak with you again tomorrow evening, perhaps at nine in my quarters? And we can make arrangements then for the easiest way I can come to know all the Pendragon elves. Does that sound satisfactory, Head Elf Grims?”

“Grims will attend Mistress at nine tomorrow,” she said, snapped, and the entire crowd disappeared.

Hermione’s shoulders sagged and she quietly groaned out, “Oh, God.”

A rhythmic sound directly behind her made her jump, toss her boxes, pull her wand, and twist around.

To find Master Firenze in a deep bow.

“A star shines on our meeting, Miss Granger,” he said, still bowed.

Hermione gasped in relief. She gave the customary answer to her former teacher and stowed her wand before picking up her packages.

“May I ask what brings you to the castle this evening, Master Firenze?”

“You, Miss Granger. The stars, and you.” So saying, he came out of his deep bow.

“Oh,” replied Hermione, suddenly feeling extremely tired. “I suppose the stars have mentioned that I’m the Scion of Pendragon.”

“In their way, yes.”

“Right.” Hermione sighed. “We’re keeping this under wraps until Saturday, and I would like to discuss this with you very soon, but until then, is there anything urgent you need to tell me that shouldn’t wait a few days?”

“The House of Pendragon has always had the aid and friendship of the herd. While some wish to honor vows more recently made and remain near the Castle of Hogwarts, a contingent will join you when you return to The Seat.”

“Master Firenze, I am very grateful, and I would very much like to discuss this matter with you further, though perhaps not this evening, which has been long already. Might we meet at nine in the evening in two nights time? Would your classroom be convenient?”

“The time is right, but the classroom will only be if there is rain. Otherwise, I will meet you here, on the lawn before the lake.”

“Excellent. I very much look forward to our meeting,” Hermione said, and her smile was genuine. She’d never particularly liked divination, but the Centaurs knew the stars and it seemed to work for them.

They parted with the customary words and Hermione refrained from sighing in Firenze’s hearing. Instead she took a very deep breath. As she turned around she was startled again, by an unearthly screeching. Once again she jumped and dropped her packages. This time she didn’t pull her wand. She knew what it was.

Mermish. Out of water.

Her heart sank.

Hermione bent down to pick up her packages and then called the Twins to her.

Tampy and Pampy popped in, one on either side of her.

“Good evening, Miss! How can we help, Miss?”

Hermione gave the packages to the one the left. “Please put these in my room and ward them against theft or tampering. They’re extremely important and must never see the inside of a Gringotts vault. You may look at them in order to know what they are, but I don’t recommend touching the items. Then please go to the Headmistress and let her know that I’m back on the grounds and I would very much like to see her before she retires for the night, if that is possible. Then come back and wait for me here.” Hermione turned to the one on her right. “Please bring me three large, fluffy towels and my bathrobe, immediately, and then if you could draw me a hot bath, and get me a tray of cocoa and some dark chocolates ready near the bath, I’d be very grateful.”

“Yes, Miss! We are happy to help, Miss!”

They left and Hermione headed toward the shore of the lake which was bound to be extremely cold.

The closer she came, the more she could make out that there were not one or two merfolk with their heads above water, their eyes glistening in the bare sliver of moonlight. There were perhaps two hundred.

_No pressure, Hermione._

_Well_. No putting this off, and best not to try and do this the easy way, which never quite worked when water was involved.

Hermione stopped in silence by a large rock on the bank and, in the full sight of what might possibly be the entire adult merfolk community, stripped.

She took her suit jacket off, folded it slightly and put it on the rock.

She took her suit skirt off, folded it slightly and put it on the rock.

She took her silk shirt off, folded it slightly and put it on the rock.

She took her slip off, folded it slightly and put it on the rock.

She took her dress shoes off, and put them next to the clothes, on the rock.

She took her stockings off, and folded them in half, and put them on the pile of clothes, on the rock.

Down to her bra, pants, jewelry, and wand holster, she pulled her wand, cast a very strong warming charm, and the bubble-headed charm. She replaced her wand and walked toward the merfolk. They backed up to allow her to fully enter. When she pulled her head down, they did the same.

She had, in her haste and resolution, entirely forgotten that she was still in the period of time in which she should cast no charms over herself for the complete healing of the cursed wound on her arm.

“Do we greet the child of Maria Pendragon?” the foremost Merwoman sang. She bore a very serviceable-looking trident, but she wasn’t the only one. Her voice was like something out of the choirs of heaven and her features were more than slightly shark-like. It was a disconcerting combination.

“Yes,” Hermione replied. “My name is Hermione. Whom do I have the honor of addressing?”

“I am Gelwyn, the Chief of this Love.”

_Right, the mermish word for their own community is love. I’d forgotten about that._

“Greetings, Chief Gelwyn. I hope that your love is faring well.” It wasn’t the traditional greeting, but Hermione couldn’t for the life of her remember what it was. She’d looked it up years ago, but hadn’t practiced it since. Dammit.

“You are kind for your kind, young one,” Gelwyn sang. “The Love is well, and we remember you. We apologize for taking you hostage in the Headmaster’s strange game. We did not like it. It is not right to treat children in such a way. And we guarded you well while you were with us. We hope that Hermione daughter of Maria is not upset with us.”

Something twisted in her heart. She liked Dumbledore, she did. But she didn’t approve of everything he’d done, and getting to date Viktor aside, the tri-wizard tournament with all of its tasks was one of those things. “I agree with your views on children, and I am not upset with you. Thank you for your kindness to me and the others while we were your guests.”

“Hermione daughter of Maria is both forebearing and kind.”

A chill seeped through Hermione’s warming charm. It would be rude to simply pull the wand, but this conversation might last much longer than the charm and Hermione refused to slowly start to freeze.

“Would you forgive me for pulling my wand in order to renew my warming charm? I’m not accustomed to the temperature of the water.”

“Naturally. One must do what one must when one is not at home. Keep your wand out, witch Hermione. We will not be offended.”

“Thank you, Chief Gelwyn.” Hermione renewed her warming charm and felt her shoulders drop. Then she placed Gelwyn’s voice. It was she, quite possibly, who had sang in the tri-wizard egg clues. Not that this was the time to ask.

“Another time, Hermione Pendragon, we will extend our hospitality to you and you will join us, for we have stories to remember, matters of import, and decisions most difficult before us, and such things cannot be discussed without a proper meal. For now, know that we hail your return to us and our hearts are gladdened by your presence. When you return to The Seat, you will not go alone.”

_Of course._

“Thank you again, Chief Gelwyn. When shall we have this meeting?”

“When the moon is full once more, and the sun has set, we shall gather at the surface to escort you.”

“Good. May I bring two or three of my advisors?”

“If they are as kind as you, they will always be welcome among us,” the Chief of the Love sang in response. It was a sweet response, but it had a dark side, Hermione considered. 

_These are sentient and proud beings with their own culture and expectations. And they carry deadly weapons as a matter of course._

_Rather like I do._

* * *

Hermione emerged from the water just in time for the bubble-headed charm to end without being cancelled. As expected, the bubble popped and all the water came sluicing down her head. Drying charms were all well and good, but _not on her hair._ Nothing could make her resemble a pomeranian quicker. 

Tampy, or possibly Pampy, was waiting next to her clothes, holding out a towel.

Hermione murmured her thanks and immediately wrapped one around her waist and secured it, draped one around her shoulders, and then put one over her head. Once she was entirely covered in fluffy white towel, she started drying off from the bottom first. Yes, she might have used some drying charms in small areas rather than over her whole body, but they tended to dry out her skin as well. Towels were better.

When her feet were dry she stuck them back into her shoes and when everything but her hair was dry, she forewent the bottom two towels for her bathrobe, leaving the last towel draped over her head.

Pampy, or possibly Tampy, snapped her fingers and the surplus towels and clothes disappeared.

“Will you bring me back directly to my rooms?” Hermione asked, still warm, largely dry, and ready for a hot bath and some cocoa.

“Yes, Miss.”

A snap, and she was there.

* * *

Hermione had decided not to read an improving text in the tub. Today, she was reading, or really, rereading the beginning of _Henry V_ by William Shakespeare from her parent’s leatherbound book. They had the complete works in several slim volumes. 

Timewise, her choice of reading was reprehensible. She didn’t have a time turner, didn’t know if she’d get one and she had far too much to do in far too little time to do it.

However, Hermione had learned a thing or two in the last several years. As important as her work was, it wasn’t life or death. Not literally, immediately, life or death for her, all her friends, all her loved ones, and three-quarters of her fellow citizens. It was important work. It was exciting work. But Hermione had lived several years now with Life Or Death Work hanging over her head, increasingly so, until finally the war ended.

Particularly in the final year of the war, she had added Running For Her Life, Being On The Edge Of Starvation, Being Tortured For Information (And Not Breaking), and Killing People.

It really made her appreciate regular food, hot baths, hot cocoa on demand, and moments where it was completely acceptable for her to take forty-five minutes to herself to read something that was Not Strictly Necessary.

In fact, she might make a habit of it. Forty-five minutes a day in a hot bath, reading something mindless for pure pleasure and suspending the ongoing to do list that had pride of place in her mind.

If she ever went on the run again, she would consider suspending the habit. Until then, it seemed quite reasonable, really.

* * *

Hermione left the bathroom of the suite she shared with Neville and the Potters, went back through their small common sitting room and into her small bedroom.

Which looked a bit larger than before.

“Um, that’s odd,” she said to the room at large. She was the only one in it.

Before there had been a single bed, a small desk with standard wooden chair, a small wardrobe, a small window, an extremely small wood burning stove, and enough room to put a trunk on the floor and still walk around. Nearly a dozen white concordias were on her desk, and one by her bedside. Admittedly, the bed was a standard four poster, and that did keep much warmer in the winter. It had been, all things considered, a highly-coveted private student bedroom, perfectly suited to her, save the lack of bookcases. Hermione had been given to understand that the Head Boy and Girl’s rooms were much like it, except that theirs also contained a reading chair, apparently.

Now…

There was a large bed. It was still a four poster.

There was a large fireplace, large enough even for comfortable floo travel, if it were possible.

There was a large window with an extremely comfortable looking window seat.

There was a large double wardrobe.

The desk and chair were gone, which annoyed her slightly, as they were extremely necessary.

There was what looked like a dressing table with chair and mirror, and Hermione supposed she could convert it to a desk. Her roses were on it, certainly.

There was a folding screen that stood on the floor and when Hermione peeked around it, she saw a freestanding clawfoot tub.

Her trunk was next to her new wardrobe. On top of the trunk looked like a very expensive, rather new pillow. On top of the pillow lay Crookshanks, snoozing, like this was all entirely normal.

And finally, there was a chaise lounge, with a soft-looking thin blanket thrown over the back, with a small occasional table next to it, just large enough for a small tea tray, she thought.

There was plenty of room to walk, stretch, do yoga, or make snow angels on the fluffy rugs that covered almost every inch of the stone floor.

Also, there were two more doors than there had been before.

Padding over in her slippers, Hermione discovered that one door led to a small, _private_ powder room.

The other door led to a rather large study. A large desk with a letter from Viktor in the exact center of the otherwise empty surface. Two large windows, with Postmaster General’s stand next to one of them. With Postmaster General on it. There were low bookcases along the walls, largely empty, though she recognized the books that were there as being the ones that had been out in her room. 

Looking all the way around she saw two doors on either side of a massive fireplace, but dominating the center of the room was…

A round table.

And the tapestry behind her desk had a green Welsh Drake rampant on a red field.

The elves may have had something to do with this, especially the tapestry, but clearly they had the consent and blessing of Hogwarts herself.

Hermione looked to the two doors. Better now than never.

She opened one and discovered that it led to the common sitting room she shared with Harry, Ginny, and Neville. Convenient. She could have meetings in her… well, her office. No. She would call it a study. She could have meetings in her study without having all the world traipse through her bedroom.

She opened the other and interrupted Minerva in a meeting with Kingsley. They stopped midword.

Hermione was still in her bathrobe and bunny slippers, only her face was a bit redder than it had been before.

“Terribly sorry. Please continue. See you in a bit, Minerva. Feel free to use the door.”

She backed out and shut the door before they could say anything.

“Right. Right. Okay. Move on, Hermione.”

She gave Postmaster General a bit of a scritch and then opened the window for him to go out and hunt. She wondered if it was one specially spelled to let him in when he approached. It would explain his presence. She let her fingers trail across the letter from Viktor. She usually got them in the morning, but it must have been just delivered. It made her smile involuntarily. Ooh, she could read it for the very first time in bed, before she went to sleep. That would be delicious.

“Tampy and Pampy?” Hermione called quietly as she padded back through her study to her new bedroom, carrying the letter with her to place on her bed.

They showed up in tears, wringing their hands.

“Miss, we are so sorry! We are so sorry, Miss! We tried to stop them, Miss!”

Hermione stopped her progress and kneeled down on the fuzziest, warmest white rug she’d ever known. She took one of their hands in each of hers. “Now, stop that right now. I’m not blaming you in the least. I’m fully aware that no matter how absolutely brilliant your magic is, not everything is under your control. I’m also aware that the elves of Hogwarts don’t particularly like me, and I can’t blame them. I did some rather stupid and incosiderate things to them a few years ago, before I understood how the relationship between elves and their witches and wizards worked. I thought they were being unjustly enslaved, and I tried to free them all.”

Tampy and Pampy gasped and looked at her askance.

“I told you it was stupid and inconsiderate. I understand better now, and I am very sorry. I got an opportunity to apologize tonight, actually, to about half of them, but one apology is hardly going to repair the damage done, and I know that perfectly well. Anyway. I didn’t call you here to reprimand you. I called you here to see if you knew any part of what is going on with my room.”

“It was the order of the head elf, Miss, the head elf of Hogwarts. She said they knew you were the Pendragon, so now you get the Pendragon Suite. We tried to stop them from touching your things, Miss. That’s our job, Miss, and there are sensitive and private things among your belongings, Miss. They are _not_ nice elves, Miss, and we _do not like them.”_

The other twin spoke up now. “I took the boxes for safe keeping Miss, the torc and the crown and the papers, and the books from the Black vault. They did not touch them, Miss. I have them here, now, Miss,” she said, and then they were in her arms, and Hermione was holding her hand no longer. She let go of the other’s as well.

“Oh, you are both such kind and good elves. I’m honored that you’re with me, I really am,” Hermione said, taking the boxes from elves who were now tugging on their long ears. She continued. “You were both the elvish witnesses to Narcissa’s naming of me. You know that I’m also in the Pendragon line. Did you realize at that time that I was the only Pendragon left? Or the first, I suppose, in a very long time?”

“Yes, Miss,” they said, but their tone clearly conveyed that they didn’t understand the significance.

“Well, I don’t know the whole of it myself, and I’m hoping to learn everything I can. But a thousand years ago, my last magical Pendragon ancestor died, and for some many hundreds of years before _that_ , possibly another thousand, the head of the Pendragon house was the king or queen of the magical communities in this area of the world. And the role is hereditary. And I visited the muggle Queen this evening, and she made me the Queen Regent of Avalon, that is to say, Magical Britain. She was the one who gave me that torc that belonged to the Pendragons, and the signet ring, which I put on, which is how the elves now know, and she also gave me a crown, and well, I’ll be honest. The crown is my favorite. I’ll tell you all about the story of the last muggle king who wore it another time. He was my favorite.”

Tampy and Pampy’s eyes were always quite round. Just now they looked rounder.

“Oooh. Queen Regent is bigger than Countess.”

“Yes, I’m afraid it is,” Hermione said with a wry grin. “I’m still honored to be the Black Heir, and I still count Narcissa as one of my most important advisors. And Black Cottage may end up being my favorite house. We’ll see.”

“Will Miss acquire Pendragon elves?” one of the Twins asked, suspicion etched deeply in her brow.

“Well,” Hermione began slowly, “There _are_ Pendragon elves. The good news for you is that right now they deeply dislike me. The bad news for you is that eventually I would like for all of us to get on well together. Not sure how possible that will be for the first few decades, to be honest. But that’s my goal in this situation. For right now, know that they have other duties I still want them to attend to. And you are my personal elves, not them. And you’re the best chefs I’ve ever met.” Hermione paused and soaked in the grins of the Twins. Then she turned it more sombre. “And you understand what I went through with Bella, a bit. And I understand what you went through with Bella, a bit. You’re the only ones who I’ll ever be able to share that with. I’m grateful for your assistance in the mornings,” Hermione said, beginning to tear up. “But I’m more grateful for your love.”

There was a group hug, made only slightly awkward because of piles of crowns in leather cases.

“Now,” Hermione began again, sitting back on her heels and sniffing her tears away with a grin. “Before we get too maudlin. I need you to adjust the embroidery on your pillow cases, if you’re willing. First, you’re serving the Queen Regent, such as she is. So why don’t you top the Black crest with a crown? Also, and I’m embarrassed to admit this, but I still can’t tell you apart. Will you each also embroider your name, or your first initial, underneath the crest?”

They both visibly blanched, which was an interesting look, for a house elf. 

“Or something else?” Hermione suggested quickly.

“Would Miss accept different colored pillowslips?”

“Brilliant. It’s very important to me that I know who I’m talking to.”

“Tampy and Pampy, Miss,” one of them said with a grin.

Hermione snorted. “Yes, thank you, so helpful.”

Both elves giggled, then sobered. “Miss is not unhappy with her suite? Only it _is_ very grand. We only didn’t like it because they didn’t ask first, and they wanted to touch all your things, which is not right because you already have personal elves, and they should know better, Miss.”

“Yes, they should,” Hermione mused. “But the suite is quite lovely. Perhaps tomorrow you can help me hang some pictures up that I brought from home. But I’m losing track of time, and I need to get dressed for my meeting with the Headmistress. Will one of you fetch some tea and nibbles and bring them into the study over there?” Hermione said, indicating the new room with a tilt of her head. “And will the other go and wait in the room in case the Headmistress gets there before me? We’ll need to do something about the lack of comfortable seating for conversation. A round table is all well and good for meetings of twelve, but for meetings of two, it lacks somewhat.”

“Leave it to us, Miss. We know what to do.”

And before Hermione could say thank you, they were gone. Leaving the boxes on the floor for a moment, Hermione placed the letter from Viktor on her pillow and hung up her robe and tossed on jeans and a sweatshirt, and then slipped her feet back into her bunny slippers. She accio’d her beaded purse, which was by her bedside table next to her single white concordia, gave Crooks a scritch on the head - he barely acknowledged her presence so deeply asleep was he at the moment - and padded into her study with the pile of leather cases and books.

She put the pile on her desk and considered the room. It really was an excellent room. It did lack a really comfortable chair to curl up and read in, though Hermione imagined she might be able to do that on the chaise. Oh well. There was plenty of room. And if they were giving her this much, surely they won’t mind another chair.

Hermione knelt down at one of the low bookcases that lined the walls of half the room. She started pulling books out of her little purse, for it was largely where she stored her library these days, and started shelving them roughly according to her system. Finer details could be done later, but the sight of the empty shelves bothered her immensely, especially when she had books to put on them, and had been missing the use of private bookshelves for years.

“How’s this, Miss?” one of the Twins said from behind her and Hermione turned around, but needed to get off her knees in order to see. There was a small couch, a tea table, and two comfortable chairs before the fireplace.

“Oh, that’s perfect. Thank you. Where did you find them?”

“The Come and Go room, miss. It’s where the Hogwarts elves store extra furniture until needed, miss.”

“Think you could find me two small mantel clocks that only tell the time, do so accurately, and make no comment about anything while they do it? I’ll be in here, and I can greet the Headmistress, so you don’t need to worry about that.”

“Yes, Miss. That may take a bit more time. Clocks can be tricky, Miss. Tampy will have to interrogate it, Miss.”

“Sensible. It’s not the highest priority, so do it when you have time. Your colored pillow slip is more important to me, as priorities go.”

“Yes, Miss. Thank you.”

Hermione continued to shelve textbooks, but then thought about one of the pictures of her and her parents. She got up off her knees and pulled out two pictures. One of her and her parents from their vacation three summers ago in France. It felt like a world and a half away. She put it on her desk, angled so she could see and others couldn’t. Then she took out another still picture her parents had taken of Harry, Ron, and her with the Hogwarts Express behind them. It was the same picture that she had left a copy of behind in her childhood bedroom. She put it next to the picture of her parents, and suddenly Hermione yearned to have a few other pictures. Specifically one of Viktor, and cut outs from the newspaper absolutely did not count. She made a mental note to ask Tampy and Pampy about wizarding photography.

There was a brisk knock at the Headmistress’ door and Hermione called out for her to come in. Nothing happened, and Hermione wondered if sound would have to travel across the castle, or just across the room for her to hear. Either way, she sprang up and went to the door, just as tea and nibbles arrived on the table, elf unseen.

“Come in,” Hermione said, opening the door and waving a welcoming arm. “Welcome to the Pendragon Suite. Sorry about earlier. Didn’t realize where the door went.”

“I quite understand,” Minerva said briefly, and took a seat. “The Pendragon Suite, eh?”

“I have had _such_ an evening, Minerva. Will you pour out the tea? I just need to fetch something,” Hermione said, waving toward the table as she went to get the leather boxes and all they contained.

“I presume we are having a late night academic chat, Minerva, since it’s bloody late and Narcissa only just got home. I didn’t have the heart to call her back. She has plots and schemes of her own to work on, of course.”

“Naturally, Hermione. Otherwise I would be in desperate violation of some rather important codes of the charter, which naturally, I have no desire to be. So let us discuss academics.”

“Have you ever studied Shakespeare, Minerva?”

“Hm. Briefly. Didn’t care for his treatment of Scottish witches.”

“Well, you should see his treatment of English kings. Much more realistic. For instance, my favorite play, which I’m sure I would have studied at length in school had I stayed with muggle education, but thankfully my parents saw to it in the summers, was _Henry V_ . Excellent king. Immediate predecessors and descendants were nothing to write home about, but _Henry,_ now, he was a king. As I was just reminded, he had to grow up fast, and he knew the horrors of war first hand. And I have a bit of show and tell, because I’ve been given his crown on permanent loan. Here. Take a look. Isn’t it a lovely bit of academic history? I love history,” Hermione grinned.

“Oh, dear _God,”_ the Headmistress exclaimed, holding the closed box.

“It’s much more impressive if you open it. That one’s safe to touch. Oh, dear, did I leave paperwork in there? Well, nothing that’s secret from you. Feel free to read at your leisure. I find I really do need some biscuits after today. Speaking at length with the merfolk is always disconcerting. I’m never sure if they’re going to eat me if I violate or neglect part of their cultural traditions. Biscuits. Definitely. And tea. Feel free to read. I’m going to eat, now.”

“Sweet Nemue’s _garters_ , Hermione,” Minerva murmured as she read one document or another. Hermione wasn’t sure which was on top.

“Eating,” Hermione sing-songed as she sank back into an incredibly comfortable chair by a roaring fire and decided that yes, she _loved_ the Pendragon Suite. It had only lacked books and comfortable chairs, and as it turned out that was easily remedied.

Hermione was vaguely aware of the shuffling of papers and non-verbal exclamations in low tones.

“My God, this is a bit of history, isn’t it? May I touch it?”

Hermione nodded around her biscuit, but sat up, ready to participate in the conversation again. “That one, yes. It’s purely a muggle artifact so far as we know. I’m to bring it to the coronation, all plans yet to be planned. The other one Narcissa wants to have looked at by a cursebreaker first, but not at Gringotts. I imagine it’s goblin-made, and I’m sure they want it back. I was thinking Bill Weasley.”

“The other?”

Hermione handed over the other case.

Minerva was speechless when she opened it. She stared at it for a long moment before closing the case and putting it on the table.

“Lovely ring,” she said, taking a long drink of her tea.

“Yes, I do seem to be collecting them, don’t I? I hope this will be the last new signet ring for a while, at least.”

“I have Kingsley in my office. I absolutely forbade him from coming with me. He speaks with the Queen tomorrow, you know. He wants to set a meeting time with you and I and Narcissa when I return to him after I speak with you briefly about academics, which I’m sure I shall momentarily, after we get these delightful pleasantries out of the way.”

“Oh yes. Well, let me think, now. I don’t suppose you mind if I think out loud? No? Excellent. Let’s see. Tomorrow night. I have a meeting with the head of the secret contingent of Pendragon Elves amongst the Hogwarts Elves which count Grims as their head. So much to discuss there. We meet at nine. Then the day after tomorrow night at nine I meet with Master Firenze to discuss the herd of Centaurs who have always advised the Pendragons, who are currently resident here. And the evening of the full moon I have a meeting with the Merfolk and I’d like you or Augusta to come with me, you, Narcissa, and Luna, I think, and we’ll be eating with them - I am sorry about that, sushi in its most raw form, that’s how I’m trying to think of it, and do you suppose it’s BYO knife? I bet it is. Anyway, I digress - and at some point very soon I need to start a significant correspondence with the Queen of England because she’s tired of being kept in the dark, and I’m thinking of getting her a set of subscriptions to the _Prophet, Quibbler, and Daily Quibble._ Actually, now there’s a thought. What would the purebloods do to see the House of Windsor as a major subscriber of the _Daily Quibble,_ I wonder. Hm. Won’t that be fun if that works out? Kingsley, Kingsley, Kingsley, yes. Today’s Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday night? My God, I have no life. Anyway, Friday is my first free night. I need to get the schedule of the Wizengamot and add it to mine, there’s no avoiding that now, but assuming the Wizengamot isn’t meeting, shall we say eight pm on Friday, here in my study? I’ll owl Narcissa and Augusta and I’ll see which of my other advisors want to attend. To this one I should think all of them would, but it’s not for me to say. Does that suit?”

“Friday is fine. Saturday I do have an all day meeting with the Board of Governors. It’s a closed door meeting, and as the news breaks on Saturday according to your schedule, I suppose you won’t object to me dropping that bomb in the meeting? It may smooth the way with other things.”

“That seems fine to me.”

“Which brings us to the subject of your extra tuition. You have requested a time turner, which I presume is for your extra studies, so I am at liberty to say that Kingsley can put his hands on one. As a professor who cares for you deeply, Miss Granger, I hope you will never use more than five extra hours a day, regularly, and never more than ten in an emergency. Your last one came with a governor. This one will not. I suggest, if I may be so bold as to speak to your schedule, that you use them entirely within this suite in order to sleep more.”

Hermione smiled widely. “Thank you so much, Headmistress. I will take your advice to heart, and I think I’ve learned in the past year or two the difference between studying for NEWTs and an actual life and death situation.”

The Headmistress snorted. “I’m sure you have, my dear. Now, to your tuition. I have a list of books that you’ll need to order,” she waved her hand and the scroll popped into being in front of her and plopped into her hands. “Some of them may be difficult to find, but charge the manager of Flourish and Blotts to find them, and she will be able to eventually. I have three tutors lined up and another two I’m attempting to woo. I think the articles on Saturday will help that a great deal, unfortunately. Regardless, I’ve had a look at your class schedule and I think that if you’re willing to have an early breakfast we could fit in a daily tutoring at 8:30 in the morning for 45 minutes, giving you enough time to get to your 9:30. Each tutor will show up once a week, giving you some time to work through the material before you see them again. We’ll start with the first three on Monday, Wednesday, Friday, and then when I can get the other two on board, we’ll fill them in with Tuesday and Thursday. I’ll assign a classroom for your use, and I’ll make sure to have it located somewhere near your suite here, as I do not wish this to be onerous for you, my dear. Every two weeks you and I will meet in my office in your 9:30 AM break on Friday for an hour or so purely to discuss your independent study.”

Hermione nodded, and then remembered to answer verbally. “That sounds excellent, and not too excessive at all. May I ask what specialty the tutors all have?”

“Well, yet to be swayed is the Pendragon Historian and the Ley Lines Expert. I already have the Parliamentarian, the Master of Blood Magic, and one of the foremost historians on Wizarding World History.”

Hermione grinned. It was like _Christmas._

“I see this meets with your approval,” the Headmistress said with a smirk.

“Headmistress, you’re _brilliant.”_

“Well, it’s been said, but not often enough, in my opinion. Now, we’ll start with this changed schedule next week on Monday morning, and do get a letter off to F&B early tomorrow and have them send immediately what they do have in stock. Our library here may have a few you can borrow on the short term if you want to get a head start on your reading. Actually, you may wish to owl your patroness and see if any of the difficult titles are part of her library. I’m sure you’ll want your own copies, but then, one day, they’ll be yours all the same. The independent study will come with a great deal of reading _before_ the classes, so that the tutors can answer questions and tell you what _isn’t_ in the books, the books being your foundation. All the same, each tutor will tell you what they require of you. The independent study is quite different in that there will be papers only as your tutors think you need help processing your thoughts in a coherent manner, and the only tests will be in our conversations, and for better or worse, how prepared you are to meet the rigid requirements of your life.”

“So it’s a lot more like real life, then.”

“Indeed,” the Headmistress agreed, and Hermione thought she almost looked sorry for her.

“Well, that’s the theme of today. When I asked Elizabeth - we’re on first name terms, and wasn’t that daunting - if I could postpone things for nine months… she said no. And pointed out more or less gently that life doesn’t wait. I suppose it didn’t for her. And I suppose it won’t for me. I’m only grateful, Headmistress, than you’ve designed this course of study for me so that I can tell the difference between my head and a hand granade.”

The Headmistress raised an eyebrow, but despite the tea, Hermione couldn’t explain what a hand granade was, not at eleven at night on this particular Tuesday.

The meeting soon ended and Hermione stood politely and gave the Headmistress a quick hug before she left. She took two more biscuits and wondered if she’d have to start an early morning run, which she’d done to get in training before actually going _on the run,_ and while it hadn’t helped much, it had given her the grace to eat biscuits more or less whenever she decided she wanted to.

Well, tomorrow was her last early morning cutting session with the Twins, and then she could either sleep in a bit, or start running around the lake again. Maybe this time someone would want to go with her.

Hermione tidied a bit, leaving the tea tray on the table, but moving the boxes and paperwork over to the top of her low bookcases. She thought that it might be nice to have the crown and the torc in display cases or something, eventually, and the proclamations framed, but that was not for tonight.

She padded over to pour herself one last cup of tea, which she took back into her bedroom. The lit scones she would leave for the elves to figure out, likewise the banking of the fire. In her own bedroom, there was a candle on her dressing table and a single candle on her bedside table, but tonight Hermione did nothing but change into her pajamas, a few stretches, another few sips of tea, and then she was settling down to read the letter from Viktor. She made it almost all the way through before drifting away to the dreams and nightmares which chased her every night.

* * *

_September 8, 199_  
_ _Malfoy Manor_

_Dear Hermione,_

_I am currently making preparations for the method of communication I alluded to last night. Read Chapter 16 in_ Secrets _for the charms involved. The version I’ve commissioned for you is not a simple set of boxes, however. I am having a set of ‘pigeon holes’ created for you, with corresponding boxes to be charmed for the other side, and given to those with whom you need to have quick, secret, and discrete conversations. In all other respects it will be as Chapter 16 describes, only it will allow you to track not one line of correspondence, but many. This should be ideal for Her Majesty, but it should also suffice excellently in other ways. I am willing for you to practice on me, and would be honored if I should merit a pigeon hole in your box. You can use the heir’s ring for this._

_The excellent craftsman who is working this for me is behind on other orders, but he has promised to rush me the pigeon hole box and two of the smaller corresponding boxes, with the rest to be delivered, possibly in several months, but sooner than six months time. I anticipate getting the main box and two small ones within the next three weeks. I know this is not ideal, but I wish to create something that will last you many generations of hard use, and will correspondingly make your life significantly easier. The day they are delivered to me, I will send them on to you._

_To ensure the uncorrupted nature of the boxes, I will refrain from casting any charm on them at all, and I request that you confirm this to be so before you begin your spellwork. So saying, I hope that once the main charms are in place, you will also do some that will ensure their longevity, and in the boxes to be gifted, charms against loss, theft, or fire._

_Looking forward to seeing you at the meeting tomorrow evening, and again on Saturday to view the progress on the townhouse, which I’m sure will be met with approval on all sides._

_At your service,  
_ _Narcissa_

* * *

General was sent out just after dawn with a letter for Narcissa, and then at breakfast he was sent out again with a letter to Flourish and Blots. Hermione whispered to him that when he was finished, there was a letter on her desk for Augusta Longbottom, and fed him a good deal of sausage from her plate. The Gryffindors at the table were all available for the Friday evening meeting, and that left only Luna, but she had a tendency to come and visit mid-breakfast. She claimed the marmalade at their table was better, but Hermione knew how it was to sit with friends rather than people who barely suffered your presence. It really did make a world of difference.

When she did come over, Neville budged over from his seat next to Hermione, who sat at the end of the long house table nearest the head table. It was the least coveted of all positions at any of the house tables, and thus the group had a fair amount of privacy for when they wanted it. Harry and Ginny sat across, and normally that was their group. Today, like a few days, Tommy and Negash had timidly asked if they could join them, and no one had the heart to turn them down. The fact that they were Hufflepuffs didn’t stop them from joining the lions for breakfast every fourth day or so. And so conversation was blissfully and relaxingly normal and tended toward the difference in first year and seventh year classes, and the relative merits of historical defence teachers.

“Mr. Travers this year isn’t so bad. And he doesn’t seem to be overtly evil. At least not yet,” Luna said, seamlessly joining the conversation.

“And you wouldn’t have had her, but the Headmistress used to teach Transfiguration, and she was really an excellent teacher,” Neville said. “Mrs. McGinty is good with the NEWT level stuff, but she seems too nice to teach beginning transfig.”

“Oh, she’s nice, sometimes,” Negash confirmed dubiously. “But she gave out three detentions yesterday.”

Neville shrugged.

“I bet you never got any detentions, Hermione,” Tommy said with love in his eyes. 

Hermione smirked. “Oh, I’ve had more than my share. Mostly they were his fault,” she said, jerking her head at Harry across the table, who had his therapy snake draped across his shoulders and half on the table.

Harry waved her off with a gesture. “Are you kidding? I’m a saint. Ask anyone. And besides, I blame Tom. Every terrible thing in any of our lives always comes down to Tom, and I’m not taking the fall for him.”

Little Tommy blanched.

“Other Tom,” Neville added before taking another bite of toast.

“When will Draco send you more presents, Hermione? I loved the tapenade,” Luna asked, apropos of Luna.

Hermione snorted her morning tea nearly all the way through her nose and onto her plate.

“Is Draco your boyfriend, Hermione?” Negash asked while Tommy had huge eyes.

Hermoine had a coughing fit and couldn’t answer, so Neville did.

“Nah, she has much higher standards than Lord Malfoy. She’s dated _Viktor Krum.”_ Neville said with great emphasis and a knowing look.

Hermione flushed crimson and Luna thumped her on the back. Ginny could no longer keep in her raucous laughter.

“It’s true,” Harry pointed out sagely, gesturing vaguely with his toast point. “About the ferret’s tapenade and the quidditch star. But is it really past tense, with Viktor?”

And Ginny was off again in gales of laughter while Negash asked if Hermione was really that famous. Luna was suggesting olive-themed gifts to present to Draco and Neville was discovering how little the average first year knew of the larger world.

“Hm. Saucepot would like to put his hat in the ring, if you’re available, Hermione,” Harry said, waving a new piece of toast at his snake.

Hermione took a fair swig of tea before she tried to speak again. In the meanwhile the snake slithered off Harry, onto the table and curled up in an empty place near her plate and stared at her. “That’s very sweet of you, Saucepot. It’s not the language barrier, I promise. Viktor could barely speak English and I know as much Bulgarian as I do Parseltongue. And it’s not the species thing, either. I’m sure we would have beautiful children and that you would be an extremely kind father. It’s more that Harry really needs you right now, and you can’t go running off dating every beautiful woman you see. And for my part, I see you as a good friend, and I would hate to ruin our friendship with a failed, though I’m certain an extremely exciting, romance. I hope you can understand.”

“He loves you even more for your wisdom,” Harry said, after Saucepot seemed to sigh in defeat.

“You’re a sweet and wonderful snake, Saucepot, and I don’t believe any of the tales Harry tells about you.” Saucepot sighed again and went back to Harry’s shoulder where, presumably, it was warmer.

“He says you should,” Harry said before finishing off his current piece of toast.

Hermione shrugged and began her breakfast anew. Until Luna spoke.

“I think you should date Draco,” Luna said, and Hermione hoped she was being playful and not insightful because to be honest, she’d rather date Saucepot. “And not just for the tapenade. But the tapenade would be a bonus, you know?”

“I’ll be sure to tell him you said so,” Hermione said, toasting her friend with her tea.

“Oh, please do!” Ginny said, still snorting with laughter. “And please share his response!”

“I hope it’s tapenade,” Luna replied dreamily.

* * *

_September 8, 199_  
_ _Hogwarts Castle_

_Dear Elizabeth,_

_I’m writing to let you know, first, that our secure and easy method of communication will be available to us in approximately three weeks, but probably no more than four weeks time. I apologize for the delay._

_I was also wondering if you might be interested in taking in the British Wizarding newspapers? Alas, we have no mirror to the BBC News, though we do have radio it is for entertainment purposes only. Also, we currently have only two newspapers, though a third one is about to begin._ The Daily Prophet, _the only broadsheet in current production, is a far cry from_ The Times. _And until recently it was entirely corrupt. The only trustworthy part of it was the advertisements, which were very useful, admittedly. Since the war has ended it has been a little better, and sadly a huge portion of the population still believes it writes only the truth, but still there is value in knowing what the populace thinks. The other,_ The Quibbler, _is a bit like_ World Weekly News _in that it often showcases fantastic claims that cannot be substantiated, but not necessarily untrue, or at least not untrue from a certain perspective. Regardless, a friend is inheriting it from her father, and since his tragic death during the war, (it’s currently being run by cousins until Luna graduates Hogwarts this year) the standard of verifiable veracity has increased dramatically. Last week’s issue was, as far as I can tell, entirely true, and I have included a copy for your edification. Of course, whichever part of any wizarding newspaper you don’t wish to save for posterity in an entirely secure manner, or clip and journal, you should burn, I think._

_Anyway, to the new newspaper, which I’m very excited about._ The Daily Quibble _is going to begin as a political watchdog in broadsheet form, and expand from there. It’s meant to be something that can be trusted no matter the politics of the reader, nor the politics of the editor. I’m hoping to use it as a way to find common ground between the families on opposite sides of the recent war. You can see the advertizement for supporters in this week’s_ Quibbler. _Please do let me know if the House of Windsor would like to be a major subscriber, and I’ll let you know all the details._

_I have not yet visited the property in Wales. There is a bit of preparation yet to be done, but I hope to take a trip there with some advisors and a team of aurors on Sunday. I can confirm, however, that there is a castle and it is in as excellent condition as a strict annual regimen of maintenance can keep a castle over the course of a thousand years. Which is to say I have no idea what it will really be like, but the elves have assured me that every November 1st they fix it up right again. Which means I doubt it has plumbing, which will certainly, certainly be an issue._

_I’ve had some thoughts about the coronation, but it’s hard to plan without a budget, and I am loathe to spend all my patron’s money from the House of Black on the project. Which brings me to another subject: the Pendragon Vault. I know Maria III said everything I need to know is in the vault, and I don’t doubt her, in a way. But realistically speaking, I don’t have access to it yet. I mean, I got in the vault. Blood magic got me that far. And the vault was seemingly empty except for a scrap of paper with what I hope are instructions, but I have yet to figure out how to read the instructions. As soon as I do, I’m sure the contents of the vault will be very helpful in every respect. Until I do, the cupboard is bare._

_To that end, the Headmistress of Hogwarts - a lovely woman, and I hope you’ll get to meet her someday, Minerva McGonagall (Order of Merlin, 1st class) - is organizing an independent study for me, and I’m hoping that some of my tutors will be able to help me figure out what is on the instructions I found in the vault. The course of study, in case you’re curious, is Pendragon history, ley lines, blood magic, wizarding world history, and parliamentary matters. I’m so excited for it, I really am, and this on top of NEWT level (that's the ending exam, the Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests, as opposed to the fifth-level exams, the OWLs, or the Ordinary Wizarding Levels) potions, transfiguration, charms, arithmancy, defence against the dark arts, and ancient runes. I’m skipping out on herbology, astronomy, divination, care of magical creatures, history, and muggle studies. Happily I have already read all of my NEWT textbooks twice over last year, but with the exception of a bit of transfiguration, some significant charms work, and more defence against the dark arts than anyone should have to personally employ, there was no practical work. Well, alright. That was a significant list. And I did do some potion brewing, but no new learning, there. The truly new work will be in my independent study, and in the practical application of the texts I’ve nearly memorized. It’ll be a bit of catch-up at first with the former, as I don’t even have the books I need yet, and my tutoring begins next week, but it should be actually quite relaxing to finally get to practice and discuss the latter, and to do so outside of the insanity of war._

_I feel I should mention something of that, but I can’t just yet. I’m sorry. It’s too fresh right now, and I still have nightmares. The last of my physical wounds finally began to heal this morning, and it is a relief to not be in constant low-grade agony. I’ll be covered in scars for the rest of my life, I’m sure, and some of them are physical, but I’m alive, and though many died, not nearly as many as might have done. I really should be happier. I helped to stop a horror, and it is now stopped. Until the next time._

_There is always a next time, isn’t there? Hatred and fear always seem to find a way._

_Not a very nice way to end a letter, is it? Well, how about this; I missed my seventh year of Hogwarts, due to war. And here I am in my eighth year, and you know, Elizabeth? I believe this may be the very first year of my wizarding life that my life won’t be in repeated mortal peril due to my friendship with Harry. At least any mortal peril I face right now will be entirely of my own making, and there’s a sense of satisfaction with that._

_Your servant,  
_ _Hermione_

_PS - If you’d like to send a return letter, for now you can pass it through Minister Shacklebolt._

_PPS - Harry is my best friend, and really, like the brother I never had. See interview on pages 1, 2, 4, 6, and 7 of this week’s_ Quibbler.

* * *

_September 8, 199_  
_ _Hogwarts Castle_

_Draco,_

_It amuses me to no end that people are now urging me to date you, just so you’ll continue sending a steady stream of tapenade. How opinions do shift. I’m not sure it’s necessary, however. Perhaps you’ll be willing to share the name of your supplier, or the recipe your elves use?_

_Politely inquiring,  
_ _Hermione_

* * *

_September 8, 199_  
_ _Hogwarts Castle_

_Dear Mum & Dad, _

_Classes are going well so far. Nothing too challenging, all things considered, and though it’s the first time to practice some of the principles, at this point I feel well versed in the theory. I’m glad I’ll be doing the independent study. But I must bring you up to date with the elves and the centaurs._

_So, I met with the Head Elf, Grims, and boy is she something else. I’d say she’s not a being I’d want to have mad at me, but it’s a bit late for that. She was really pushing for me to resume what she calls The Seat as immediately as possible, regardless of the year I’ll spend here, and so we’ve arranged to go see the place this Sunday, which is the eleventh. I’m bringing some advisors, and at least Harry and his broom, because if this place is as big as I think it is, I’m going to need to suck it up and just fly tandem with him in order to get a sense of what and where._

_Did you know not all elves are literate? Some are, some aren’t, and it doesn’t seem to bother them either way. Grims is, and apparently all the Head Elves tend to be, because they keep records. She’s handed over the Pendragon Elf records to me, and it is both fascinating and deadly dull at the same time. All births and deaths of elves have been recorded, and the record dates back to approximately 400 BC, I think. I can’t quite be sure because the method of telling the date after a certain while has less to do with a globally recognized standard and more to do with what year it was in the life of a certain head of house. Or possibly not their year in ages but their year in holding the head position of the household. Witch, not elf, I mean. Also, the record is kept in one scroll. It’s quite a fascinating bit of magic, really._

_It took some convincing for Grims to agree to tell me the same story she tells all the rest of the Pendragon elves when they gather on November 1st to maintain the castle in Wales. But after she agreed, she said she didn’t mind if I wrote it all down._

_I’m sure it’s going to be fascinating, and I’m thinking that in a year or two, perhaps I should write a book. First, it could help to improve the Pendragon fortunes, which I’m sure as an effort couldn’t hurt. Even if the vault is full of priceless artifacts, it’s not like I’ll want to sell any of them. They’re not exactly liquid assets. But it’s also quite interesting because the elves tell a very different story from the Centaurs, which I suppose I might have predicted, but I didn’t. I’m sure it will be different all over again for when I meet with the Merfolk. So far each has had a piece of the puzzle, with a few overlapping edges, and a few overlapping pieces._

_My meeting tonight with the Centaur representative was remarkably straightforward, which I hadn’t anticipated. Whenever it is I’m ready to take up The Seat - the way everyone says it, it very clearly has a couple capital letters involved - roughly half of the herd is going to come with. It’s an internal matter of great debate as to who goes and who stays. I don’t know enough about the personalities involved to render an opinion, but I got an interesting impression from the Centaurs that I hadn’t gotten from the elves._

_I think there’s some sort of power balance (magical power, I mean) that the Centaurs, Merfolk and Elves help to maintain, here, and maybe in other places. Not sure about the details. Not sure about the main points, really. But the Centaurs know, as the Merfolk seem to, that some must go and some must stay, and all three groups of beings are clear that the going-ones need to go together._

_It’s not my first priority to research, nor even my tenth, but I want to keep my eye on it in the conversations I have._

_That’s it for me. It’s late. I’m going to write a bit to Viktor, take my bath, read some Shakespeare and get to bed._

_I love you,  
_ _Hermione_

* * *

_September 8, 199_  
_ _Hogwarts Castle_

_My dearest Viktor,_

_So you did a sexy photo shoot, for me? I’m totally impressed. And I very much look forward to receiving the magazine. Just in case the cover photo is inflammatory, and in case it is delivered at breakfast, do cover it in brown paper for me. I’m looking forward to consuming it alone and I will be sure to report as to the details of the consumption._

_Thank you so much for the beautiful flowers. I love each one. The pale peach are so lovely, but you’re quite right, they do have less of a fragrance than the white concordias. How fascinating. Was the color bred out, or in, do you suppose?_

_Thank you for the beautiful brooch, and the white concordia that goes with it. Viktor, you spoil me, but I love it. I love being surrounded by your flowers. I’m going to wear this one tomorrow as you suggest and see if anyone notices, or complains. I doubt they will._

_So you want to create a rose garden for me? I would be honored, Viktor. Would you fill it with concordia of all colors? Or the other flowers you grow that you’ve only mentioned in passing? (Don’t think I haven’t noticed, Viktor. I have.)_

_I am thrilled that you can come on the 19th. Thank you. Thank you so much for going through all the trouble. You know, you don’t really have to come bearing gifts, despite the fact that it’s my birthday. You being with me will be gift enough, Vitya. I’m so excited to see you, and I promise it won’t all be ocean depths of grief and turmoil. I’m feeling quite even keeled most of the time. I’m sorry my letters have been so dark. I don’t want to be like that, you know. But I’m so happy to get to spend the day with you. You imagine it won’t be long enough, whereas I’m worried you might get bored and decide I’m not worth the effort after all._

_A rubber duck is a small children’s toy often used in the bath. They are often bright yellow. They are cute, perhaps, and float quite vigorously. It is definitely not a hunting decoy. I think those are made of wood, though I’ve not had much experience there. The rubber duck is not meant so much as to be realistic or educational, but to stave off temper tantrums at bath time. It is at its essence, fake and childish, though when one is a child, that is preferable. Hence my use of it in the wading pool metaphor._

_Shifting gears, and you should know that it’s almost bedtime for me, you sleep naked? Well, that is illuminating. Always? Even in the winter? What on earth do you do if you have to get up in the middle of the night to have a wee? Freeze to death? Perhaps you can tell from my questions that I have never slept naked, though I may try it tonight, just to see what its like. If I do, I’ll report back on whether I find it sexy, sensuous, daring, or just uncomfortably nippy. I will say it does put any prospective night time snuggles in proper perspective. Hmm. Wouldn’t that just always lead to sex, then? After a long day, we’re both tired and need to sleep, but then I push my naked breasts into your naked back, your beautiful bum (I’m sure it’s beautiful, but of course I’ll have to check one of these days) snuggles into my hips and my legs come up under your thighs, and then I reach around to hold you and get… what? Your naked chest? And if I reach lower? Would you be hard or soft?_

_I haven’t masturbated so much in my life as I have in the last month, Viktor. Honestly I haven’t. I’m like some sort of nymphomaniac over here, always panting after your body. The French magazine, when it comes, may break me. Then again, you might wish to reserve that pleasure for yourself when you visit on the 19th._

_I can well understand you not wanting to picture me as I was two summers ago. So how have I changed since we said goodbye when you were seventeen? Well, my hair is somewhat more manageable. I’ve grown two inches, though that’s it for me and height, I think. I was a c-cup bra before starvation, but I’m probably somewhere between a b and a c, now that I’m gaining weight back. My hips are quite slender by comparison to some and always have been. And again, I had a bit of a bum before starvation, but it’s gone now. I swear I have been eating._

_Well, that went far away from being sexy. Sorry. But that’s my body. The changes haven’t always been good._

_So you want me to lick my lips at you and bite my bottom lip? That’s not a problem. I’m doing so now, as I write. Stare at you in fascination and pleasure? Done. I’m sorry to hear you’re not in a place where you can easily make noise, but I’m happy to say that I am. And I do, whenever I have my hand between my legs and am thinking about you. Moans and groans and all those little panting sounds that are so breathy and amount to ‘ah, hah, ah, hah.’ It was strange at first to whisper your name, as if I was invoking you, which I didn’t want to do without your consent. Though in the last few weeks, I do understand that I have it. But before that, I would bite my tongue to keep from saying your name, in case it was disrespectful, but I couldn’t keep myself from imagining your face, your smile, your arms, the way it felt to dance with you, to be held against your body even briefly._

_But of course now I hear your litany in my ears, your beautiful tongue forming the words. Fuck. Myon. And it makes me want to moan my own consent over and over again._

_Yes, Viktor, yes!_

_September 9, 199__

_You know, thinking about the roses again, and what you’ve said about them… I love that despite them being a national treasure of Bulgaria and illegal for export, I’ll still get to have a rose garden of them because you’re not illegal to export, and you’re talented enough and have enough experience to dance through the fiery hoops of growing them properly from just a stem. But you know, you’re my national treasure. Not because of the roses. Not because of the quidditch. But because somehow we have this connection that has never really gone away. And somehow I seem to understand you, though not always as well as I would like. And somehow you always seem to understand me, though sometimes more than makes me strictly comfortable, because of course I might be content to live always in my wading pool with it’s little joys and little sorrows and tell myself that I don’t need the ocean with its vasty deeps and overwhelming waves and dangerous creatures that would eat me as soon as look at me, and as well, its unutterable joys and profound beauties, and such rest. Such comfort. An ocean depth of happy rest._

_I wore the corsage today and you know, it was just a nicer day. Are concordia roses addictive, do you know? Tell me more about them. I’d ask for a book, but I trust that you know everything there is to know about them, more so than I might get in a book, and so tell me everything._

_I do want to visit your parents with you this summer. I don’t care what else happens. I want that, and I’m claiming it. I leave it to you to plan, and know that I am in excellent hands._

_I realize I am skipping over a few things in your letter, some of them make me choke on my tea to consider. Still. Some of them I really just want to talk with you in person and there are nine and a half days until I can do that, which while it seems like an age, isn’t, really._

_And so I return to your inflammatory statement about sleeping in the nude. Well, I don’t know if it’s technically, objectively inflammatory. I feel inflamed by it, however, so I stand by my phrasing. Or as the case would be at the moment, I sit proudly adjacent to it._

_I have a dressing table and a separate study now, more about why later, but now I have two dozen roses, so the pale peach concordia live on my dressing table in my bedroom, and the stunningly beautiful white concordias live on my desk, next to a picture of my parents, and a picture of me, Harry, and Ron. They’re both muggle photographs of course, entirely unmoving. I wish I had one of you, to sit right in front of the vase. And as much as I value being able to see you occasionally in the newspaper, and to see how your hair has grown out, and how your physique has changed, it’s not the same, and I wouldn’t want to frame any of those. I wish I had a decent camera, in a way, but I also have absolutely no interest in photography, muggle, wizarding, or any other kind, and I’ve always taken crap pictures. If I had a camera, I’d just have to give it to someone with a bone of creativity in their bodies so they could do all the heavy lifting for me. It’s no good. But I still want a picture of you that I can frame up properly. (A decent one I can put on my desk, with all your clothes on, please.) See what you can do, will you?_

_I find myself inundated this year with studying and letter writing. It’s all I do, really. Well, that and meetings. I have so many meetings, Viktor, it’s absurd for one eighteen year old to have this many meetings. And perhaps you’ll like this one: I recently had a brief meeting with the merfolk and a) I had to strip down to my bra and pants and wand sheath to do it (it was night, no one was around except some elves and about two hundred adult merfolk who were certainly wearing less than I), and b) I got a formal apology for their part in my abduction and subsequent hostage situation from which you had to rescue me that year. (I’ve accepted their apology.) Also, I got to meet the merwoman who sang in your egg. Gelwyn, Chief of the Love and by God she’s more than just mildly terrifying, in a friendly sort of way, and with an angelic singing voice._

_Sigh. So many meetings. Some pleasanter than others. More in person._

_Right. So. Duly reporting back. I slept naked last night. I was cold. It was not sexy. It was not sensuous in the traditional sense of the word, though I was very aware of many sensations, none of them pleasant. I was cold. I was cold the whole bloody night through, Viktor. How do you do it? What sort of blankets do you use? And how do you keep the drafts out by your neck? It was dreadful, and I have a bloody big bed now, and it was all just cold. I mean, sure, warming charms, but they wear off and I’ve had some experience with doing spellcasting while half asleep and distracted by many things, and that lies in the direction of accidental housefires, so I largely refrain now that I can. I can see the merits in the height of summer, especially without air conditioning, but the other three seasons? Tell me what your secret is, and I may be persuaded to try it again. Not even masturbation helped last night, nor a hot bath, and of course after where I left your letter, the last one I wrote yesterday, of course I had to masturbate, which I did in the tub because I could, and that was all fine and large but then I got out and got progressively colder. But I was determined to do it, and I did._

_Ah, and now it’s nearly bedtime again. I shall bring a book I am rereading into the bath for a calming forty-five minutes of mindlessness and then I shall put on my pajamas, have a good stretch, and climb into my cold bed which won’t be so bad, because I’ll have pajamas on. Perhaps not what you’d call sexy pajamas. One of Harry’s old jerseys from the Tri-Wizard Tournament (honestly, it reminds me of you, and he was just going to throw them away because they don’t fit anymore. His wife got two of them, and I got the other one and they fit us just fine.) and some flannel pajama bottoms decorated with christmas sloths dangling from strands of fairy lights. (It’s a muggle fascination, the sloth thing, but they are rather cute, and no actual, real fairies are involved, which makes things much cuter.)_

_Off I go, headed into dreamland. Wish me luck. It can be a dangerous place, and my wand rarely works the way it should, there._

_Thinking of you,  
_ _Hermione_


	11. Chapter 10: Wherein Narcissa picks colors and textures.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We see that Narcissa’s current plans and schemes are of an entirely different variety in the past several years. They suit her better.

Narcissa had the floor plans of the Grimmauld Place Townhouse in London spread out across the large worktable she had set up in the blue salon. It was the place Bellatrix had tortured Hermione, and this was one of the ways that Narcissa was working to redeem this room in her own mind. The debts of honor would be paid off here, in a way. She had several boards on the wall lined with soft wood and pins at the ready.

The townhouse was entirely clear of cursed items and dark artifacts. The entire library had been removed, as well as any family heirlooms. There were a few pieces of furniture which had been removed to be refinished and reupholstered, but the entire house was an unmitigated mess. She had put what had clearly been the personal belongings of the Potters into storage for the present, as well as Sirius’ notorious motorbike and mechanics tools. The gardens would need  _ extensive  _ work, but that was for later.

This week all the wallpaper was being stripped off, all the stained wood stripped and cleaned, and given the level of wood paneling and detailed molding throughout the house, it would take a team of seven elves all week long to do it, if they didn’t run into problems, and if Kreacher didn’t kick up more of a fuss than usual.

Apparently all the living had been confined to the basement kitchen, one meeting room on the ground floor, a bedroom and a single functional bathroom.

Narcissa shook her head. What on earth had happened to Kreacher’s work ethic? It was so unlike a house elf. Narcissa just didn’t understand. It was an eighteen bedroom townhouse. It had a  _ ballroom  _ on the third floor. She’d had her coming out there, as had her sisters. Two dining rooms, a morning room, four small sitting rooms, a library, three card rooms, a billiards room, a smoking room, Uncle Orion’s library, full elf quarters in the basement besides what ought to have been a massive and fully functional kitchen, and attics to fill a child’s imagination. And the opulence of the bathrooms would have made the Malfoy Manor blush.

Well, that was then. It was certainly not now.

_ Will the Potters want a ballroom?  _ She tapped her forefinger on her chin thoughtfully. Ballrooms were handy to have, but even more so large open spaces which could perform multiple functions. Certainly she’d also learned to duel in that ballroom. Quite handy, that, especially since this property didn’t have a surplus of acreage attached. The harpsichord had already been removed and sent to a specialist to be repaired, providing an entire rebuild wasn’t necessary. But, no. The ballroom would stay.

It was stunning, really, how such a ridiculously large house could seem so very small and oppressive. Taking some of the cursed items out helped tremendously, of course. There was a knocker on the ballroom door, for instance, that blocked that entire floor from entry. Given that she was the only Black who’d been in it in a while, she wondered if anyone else ever wondered why the stairs seemed so long, and why they seemed to skip over the third floor entirely.

Extension charms had been significantly used, of course, and she would have to make sure they were inspected after the elves were done with their stripping. While she was at it, she would be extending that ridiculous patch of grass and stone out back into a decent garden. 

But that was next week.

She focused on her samples and pulled out several different shades of a pearlescent blue, a misty green, a very light tan, and several of an entrancing range of lavenders. She would send them to Ginny and hope to get a decision back within the week so the ordering could be done on schedule.

Once the palette was set for the house and the public rooms, she would do another round for the Potter’s private rooms, and then the numerous guest suites. The kitchen she had already chosen, as well as the Pendragon suite. The attics and elf suites were being done, but neither required a palate. Most elves preferred a light blue, and all attics ought to be white, save nurseries, which ought to be in soothing dawn colors.

She set the current swatches aside and regarded her board of notes, swatches, and timeline of progress.

Two weeks for the extenders to do their work, and then the muggle contractors were coming in to repair the roof, clean the brick and fix the pointing. Then continuing on with the muggle contractors, plumbers and electricians, because it was absolutely ridiculous not to have an electrified house these days. Ridiculous. All it needed was a bit of magic shielding installed after all the electric work was finished and the two systems worked side by side just fine.

Now. Would they want a telephone? Muggles seemed to put a great store by them, and Harry might wish one. Hm. She would have to ask Ginny.

Narcissa returned her attention to the timeline. Three weeks for the plumbers and electricians, and then a week for the plasterers. If there were no delays, by mid November the muggle portion would be entirely finished. Then it would all be stains, paints, tiles, papers, and moving the textures back in. And the gardens. Oh, the gardens. If she worked on them while the muggles were present after the extenders had finished, she could get the hardscaping done, the bulbs in, and the trees and hardy shrubs planted and that would be the best time for it, in October and November. The rest of the planting would wait for spring, including the high and low grasses, but there was much that could be done by December. It was very possible that she would have quite an excellent Christmas Surprise for the Potters this year. And when she was finally done with the last of the gardens, she would present them with the deed. Possibly in time for graduation. That would be excellent timing, and it would allow for any last minute changes.

Narcissa switched her attention to the  _ other  _ board. Ah, the Black Cottage in Ramsgate. The extenders were there right now securing the existing extensions and working on the additions she had commissioned. A muggle highway actually bisected the property between the cottage and the sea, which was unfortunate, but not impossible. The highway itself had an unseen bridge over it that muffled sound, smell, and sight from the highway escaping into the lawns or the cottage itself. And there were hedges along the edge of the long bridge so one couldn’t actually wander  _ into  _ the highway, which would be dreadful, though the muggles did put up rather ugly fencing to prevent that, and then there was a break in the hedge with a beautiful stone archway that led to the otherside of the property and the sea. The view from the cottage was unblemished, and the track straight down from the house was direct, easy, and still a delight to walk, but the magic to make it so was complex in the extreme. She had already had it inspected and though it was fine now, major maintenance would need to be undertaken in a decade. Narcissa had already made a note of it in the house journal she was keeping.

As a matter of fact, each house had its own journal. When things died down and Hermione had the Pendragon business under control in a few years, she would walk her through all of her notes with painstaking care. The houses were easy. And fun, really. The business interests were more daunting.

Narcissa shook her head and went back to the examination of the swatches until the door opened and her son walked through. She noticed that he looked at the carpet in the center of the floor and shuddered before he looked at her.

“Good morning, Mother. I apologize for missing you at breakfast. I was on a floo call that took much longer than I would have expected.”

He came toward her and kissed her on both cheeks which she immediately found suspect. Clearly there was more bad news to be had.

“I know you wanted me to be available this Saturday for a possible dinner with dear sister Hermione,” he said this with the sartorial lift of an eyebrow that did nothing to hide his own emotions on the matter, not to her, and not, she fancied, to anyone, “but Francois wants me to be in Burgundy for the harvest and it’s been decided this morning that they’re ready to begin. Winter is going to set in early this year, apparently.”

Narcissa made a mue of discontent. That meant the grapes wouldn’t be as mature and the year might be a total loss for the pure vintages. They would be grapes only worthy of being blended with other, better years. The later the harvest, the better. The third week of September was  _ not  _ a good time. Of course, an early freeze would be so much worse.

“No, of course you must go. I’m so proud of you, Draco. You care deeply for the welfare of our family and our retainers.”  _ More than your father ever did,  _ she did not say.

Lucius was scheduled to be kissed Saturday morning at Azkaban. Neither one of them mentioned that, either, though both knew it all too well.

Narcissa pushed it out of her mind with a smile that went to her eyes and still was not quite genuine. The only thing to do was fill her life with work. There were debts to repay and futures to make. Draco had his work rebuilding the Malfoy fortunes, and she had hers with the Black. Neither were in particularly excellent shape at the moment. All in all there was too much to do to look back at what might have been. Lucius had never been one to deal in realities. He dealt too heavily in the speculation of fruitless futures, and Narcissa would not make the same mistake.

She was backing a sure thing, and she was doing it with all of her being.

She called for tea, but Draco demurred.

“How can you stand to be in this room, Mother?”

“It’s part of my redemption, Draco. I’m doing this for both of us.” She came closer to him and held out both of her hands for his, and he took them. “And it’s pleasanter work than this salon has seen in many years.”

“Yes, I can see how rearranging pillows would have the edge on that maniac.”

“Oh!” Narcissa squeezed his hands in punishment. “I have seen holes filled with rodent entrails in better shape than that townhouse. Believe me. This is work. But you’re right. I much prefer the benign pursuits of home renovation, the building of family fortunes, and the paying off of debts to following insane men and their insane bids for power.”

“And what of our new queen, then? Being one of her chief advisors has no pull at all for you?” Draco asked, smirking at his mother in disbelief.

“Frosting on the cake,” Narcissa said shrugging and shaking her head in an elegant fashion. “Frosting on the cake.”

* * *

_ September 9, 199_  
_ _ Malfoi Burgundy Vineyards, France _

_ Hermione, _

_ Surely it will not come to that. Though I’m flattered, or something like it. My head is consumed with the niceties of an early harvest and I’m from home, as you see, so you’ll have to suffice with this. It’s the best year of our last ten, and a better care package I’m sure a Hogwarts student has yet to see. _

_ Bon appetit,  
_ _ Draco _

_ PS - The cheese is best paired with a sweet apple. Don’t settle. _

* * *

_ September 9, 199_  
_ _ Buckingham Palace _

_ Dear Hermione, _

_ I was very grateful to receive your letter on the 8th of September, and I look forward to this new system of which you speak. I’m sure it will be excellent, and I do understand that excellence takes time, regardless of the involvement of magic. _

_ Regarding the note in the vault, I suggest you investigate Old Welsh. _

_ The House of Windsor will be a major subscriber. Send to me the details and it will be done. I very much look forward to having a more visible role, albeit benign, with this portion of my subjects. I agree that a subscription to all the major news outlets in Avalon would be most beneficial. Please arrange it and send me the bill. _

_ Your school subjects sound absolutely fascinating, and I hope you will be able to access all the resources of your vault soon enough. The budget for the coronation, however, will not be yours to bear. Naturally, that will be taken care of by this side. As far as attendance goes, I will bring Charles and my personal secretary, Pembroke. The rest we will configure later, but do tell me of your ideas so far. I wish to hear them all. I also wish this to be a uniquely magical coronation, so far as it can be with me doing the business. The most essential part, of course, is that you, I, and witnesses be present, I read the proclamations, place the crown on your head, and you make a declaration of fealty to me in return. The rest is window dressing, but window dressing can be extremely useful. When you visit the Pendragon Preserve, do look at it with an eye to the coronation and possible venues. It would be best for it to be in Avalon, as it were. _

_ I am sorry to hear about these attempts on your life, even obliquely. It seems your childhood was not very long at all. Some time you will tell me about each one in detail. Though it is small comfort, it seems you are a very capable young woman and it would be folly indeed to attack you. I hope, for your sake, you have a reprieve this year, but I do not imagine it is something that will be forever gone from your life. That is too much to ask for anyone in our position, and it is not right for us to hide behind others when all are in danger. This, I feel, you already know. It is an ethic my family and my predecessors have clung to above all else, which perhaps you already know as well. _

_ Please continue to write to me, and if it is not too onerous, a weekly letter would be excellent. I shall alert you, should I be travelling. Of course when it comes to coronation planning, more often communication shall certainly be necessary. _

_ In friendship,  
_ _ Elizabeth II _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to keep the chapters all under twenty pages long. And yet, sometimes, we have a four page chapter. ::shrugs:: So it goes. There will also be twenty page chapters.


	12. Chapter 11: Wherein love is discussed.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Knowing what one wants is half the battle. The rest is in understanding love is not war.

“Luna, stay a moment?” Hermione asked as people began to take their leave. Ron was one of the first ones gone, then Kingsley and Minerva, and Augusta and Narcissa left together out the door to Minerva’s office to walk out to the castle gates. That left only Luna and the suitemates.

When it was just them, Luna responded. “Are you tempting me to break my curfew, Hermione?”

Hermione thought about it for a moment. “Yes, I suppose I am. Does this mean I’m corrupting youth?”

Luna smiled. “No. Just checking.”

“Right. Let me just go get the others.” Hermione ducked into the common room and knocked on some doors. “Sorry to interrupt,” she called loudly. “It’s just that Draco sent his next present and I thought-”

Neville’s door opened. “Yup, I’m game.”

Ginny’s voice could be heard through the door. “We’re coming! Don’t eat all the tapenade without us!”

Hermione grinned, then called the Twins.

She told them very specifically what they needed, and then headed back into her study, leaving the door open to the common room.

Luna was seated in the middle of the large couch, gazing serenely at the fire. Hermione ducked into her bedroom and took her present out of the wardrobe and brought it back in.

“It’s not tapenade, or you would have just brought it to breakfast,” Luna mused. “Given the hour, it’s probably alcohol. So, _are_ you two dating? Or did the roses come from Viktor?”

Hermione settled the box on the table and looked very closely at her intuitive friend. “Is it just logic, Luna, or is it something else?”

Luna smiled beatifically. “Does it matter, if I’m right?”

“Maybe not,” Hermione said, accepting the prevarication. “And no, we’re not dating, and yes, the roses are from Viktor. Though I hope one day we’ll be friends. Draco, I mean. I just didn’t want to be at war with Narcissa’s son, and since he’s game, I’m seeing where it goes. But I’ve never really found him attractive. And you?”

“Oh, he’s very handsome. But he hasn’t been particularly desirable, not when he was filled with hate and pain. But there’s less of that now. It’s like a mist is clearing.”

“I see,” Hermione said, hiding her grin. “Well, won’t that be interesting, then. You would have exceptionally beautiful children.”

“We really would. But yours and Viktor’s would be more intelligent, I think.”

Hermione choked on her saliva.

“The last time I _saw_ Viktor I was exceptionally rude and then I went off to fight a war,” she said, coming back to herself. Neville walked in and she threw him a smile. “We’ve exchanged letters since then, and they have been quite lovely, some of them… _quite lovely,_ but that doesn't _mean_ anything.”

“Who is this you’re writing to now?” Neville asked, plopping down in the open chair.

“Viktor.”

“Oh _ho!_ So you _are_ still holding a candle for him. But weren’t you and Ron a thing, right after the final battle? I thought I saw you kissing. Not that it’s any of my business,” Neville said, polite even to the end.

“Ron and I are no longer a thing, officially, and we haven’t been a thing, unofficially, since a week after that kiss. And Viktor… God, I don’t know. He’s an excellent friend, a _bloody amazing_ penpal and he’s fluent in English now, and he’s coming to visit me next week… But… He lives in _Bulgaria_ . I’ve never been clear that there could be any kind of future there. It’s not like France. It’s not just a hop over the channel on a fast broom. It’s 1500 miles away. It takes letters two _days_ to get to him.”

“Sometimes logic betrays you, Hermione,” Luna said as the Potters arrived.

“Budge up, Luna. It’s possible Hogwarts counts this room as public space which means I can’t just sit on Harry’s lap,” Ginny said.

Hermione sat staring at Luna as her words sunk in. She thought about all those lovely, lovely letters, and Ginny’s assessment that Viktor was desperately in love with her.

“So, is this a post meeting meeting or is there more tapenade?” Harry asked, and Hermione was jolted out of her musings enough to realize that he must have put Saucepot to bed, for he had been present during the meeting with Kingsley.

Just then an amazing amount of _stuff_ appeared on the low tea table before them. Hermione had really just asked for a corkscrew, some glasses, some sweet apples, some plates, and some knives.

What she got was that, and two water jugs, more glasses, nuts, olives, and giant bowl of little things that looked fried.

She blinked, then unpacked the box.

“Hmm,” Luna commented.

“Right, what’s that then?” Neville asked.

Hermione read off the labels and pointed out that Malfoy was busy tending his vineyards in France for the harvest.

“Early harvest,” Luna commented.

“Yes, that’s what he said.”

“That’s a bad sign,” she added. “The grapes want leaving on the vines as long as possible, you know. Except they can’t be frozen. Unless you're making ice wine, but I don’t think they do that in Burgundy.”

“Can’t say I know much about it,” Hermione admitted. Farming of any sort had never really interested her. Though the cultivation of roses was passively quite interesting.

“Viticulture is a fascinating subject. You can’t use magic on the vines in anyway. They say Bacchus forbade it, after a wizard betrayed his trust. The magic changes the flavor of the grapes. Sometimes quite drastically, and usually quite unfortunately. Even wizard-owned vineyards have to be almost entirely muggle. The grapes have never liked magic. Except they do like house elves. Perhaps Bacchus remained on good terms with the elves? Hard to know. Anyway, it is why elf wine is so popular. Most wizards can’t be bothered without their magical short-cuts. But you can’t short-cut good wine. It gives me hope for Draco, really. If he’s there, he cares about his grapes, and he cares about his people, who are probably entirely muggle, save a wizard manager, perhaps, or perhaps a squib.”

Silence followed, but Hermione shook herself out of it enough to pour the water, then the wine, and start slicing cheese and apples and passing things about.

“Luna,” Ginny began, once her wine glass was three-quarters empty. “When did you get so wise? Was there some sort of coming of age ritual in the Ravenclaw tower that no one else is allowed to know about? Is it books you’ve read? Did someone pull you aside and tell you the secret nature of the Universe?”

“Oi!” Neville shouted, gesturing with his entirely empty wineglass. “That’s a totally offensive question, Mrs. Potter. Miss Lovegood,” he said, gesturing with the apple slice in his other hand, and now dramatically whispering, “was _always_ wise. We were just too foolish to notice.” He ended with a superior expression plastered on his face, belied only by the fact that he was swaying gently from side to side.

“Have some water, both of you,” Hermione said, pouring out glasses for everyone and taking a hefty gulp of her own.

“Hmm. It’s a fair question, but I think we’re all changed from what we were a few years ago. We’re all functional war orphans, from this or the last, except you, Ginny. We’ve all been responsible for untold death and destruction. We’ve all hurt people we loved, and been hurt by people we loved. By all rights we should all be just a little fucked up-”

Everyone gasped at Luna’s language, some gasps were in surprise, some in delight.

“-but then we all have choices. And even though it might not seem like it, being a little fucked up is a choice. I’ll grant you, it doesn’t seem like one simple choice, but that just might be my perspective. To me it seems like a lot of little choices, tiny choices, every day, every moment. And so one day I decided I wanted to understand people. To know them. Not in order to judge them, or analyze their behavior. I wanted to know them so I could love them. Aside from all the mystics and sages and their opinions on the matter, it was Love that saved Harry over and over again. His mother’s love for him. Narcissa’s love for her son. Hermione’s love for him. Ron’s love for him. Love protected Harry when nothing else could. So I decided that the best way I could possibly help the world was to love everyone in it, even if no one else agreed with me. They never have, so why let that bother me now? And when you love someone, it’s easy to see everything about them, without any kind of judgment. It’s just there. Laid bare.”

“Luna, that’s beautiful,” Harry said, his wine glass mostly full.

Luna smiled silently, chewing a piece of cheese and apple she had put together.

“Luna, I am so glad you decided to be friends with me,” Hermione said, nursing her glass of wine and eating fried things.

“I’m glad you’re _all_ my friends. I wouldn’t be alive without you,” Harry said.

“Here’s to living lives full of love,” Luna proposed, holding out her wineglass. Neville rushed to splash a bit of wine in his own glass so he could participate.

“To lives full of love,” Hermione agreed.

“Love!” everyone else agreed with enthusiasm.

They drank the toast and smiled at each other. “So, Neville,” Ginny asked. “Who do you have your eye on, then?”

Neville groaned, threw himself back in his chair and dramatically threw his arm over his face so his eyes were hidden by his elbow.

“No one! Specifically, no one!”

“Yeah, I don’t get it,” Harry admitted, reaching for some fried things and popping them in his mouth.

“How many unsolicited proposals for marriage _did_ you get over the summer, Neville?” Hermione asked.

“A dozen,” he groaned. “Happily, Gran burned them all and proclaimed the entire thing ridiculous. She’s determined that I will marry whom I wish, for love, when I decide I’m good and ready, bless her. Then she started sending howlers,” he said, now giggling, but still under his own elbow.

“You’re quite the eligible bachelor now, Neville,” Luna said. “You wielded the Sword of Gryffindor in battle. Successfully. In public. You’re strong, handsome, modest, and brave. I can see why you didn’t see this coming, but I don’t think the rest of us should be all that surprised.”

Harry was nodding silently, and Hermione could see her point.

“I’m sure the only reason Hermione hasn’t been similarly inundated is because potential suitors had no idea how to send a letter to a muggle household. The owls aren’t always very reliable, there. It’s not part of their systemic memory. And her parent’s residence isn’t a matter of public record, at least not to wizards. Not like with purebloods.”

Hermione blinked at this, and then in a very catty moment had some very nasty thoughts about Ron and what offers he might have had. Then she calmed right down, thinking about Viktor’s letter in June and how Ginny had pointed out that he’d practically proposed in the first paragraph.

“One more reason I stole Harry away to elope. I nipped all that in the bud,” Ginny said, nodding and eating more cheese.

“Yes, that’s very convenient, because you’re both in your final year. It’s trickier if the one you want isn’t around,” Luna agreed.

“So are you interested in dating Draco, then?” Hermione asked. The wine was making her recollection a bit fuzzy. Had Luna admitted it, or was it just prevarication?

“Perhaps,” she said. “I very much doubt romance is on his mind, or that he would take any overtures seriously, or kindly. I’m not sure I would, in his shoes. A relationship of any sort would be a reasonable place to start. That’s what I hope for right now. And what about you, Hermione? What would you have with Viktor, if the stars aligned in your favor?”

Hermione sighed, and ate the last piece of cheese and apple on her plate.

“Come on, Mione. What’s on your mind?” Harry prompted.

She shook her head. “I don’t… I don’t know. I think he wants forever and I… Oh, God.”

“Mmm, but I didn’t ask what you thought he wanted, Hermione,” Luna clarified. “What do you want? Or don’t you know?”

Hermione found herself shaking her head. “I… really… don’t… know. _I don’t have a plan,”_ she said, entirely bemused at herself.

“Welcome to my world,” Harry said, raising his glass to her.

* * *

_September 10, 199_  
_ _Hogwarts Castle_

_Dear Mum & Dad, _

_I’ve started running again. I’ve bribed some of my friends to join me. Well, I suppose I could have just asked them first, but I wanted to sweeten the deal, so I have a bit of a breakfast waiting in our shared sitting room, and then we go for a run. I don’t like to have much to eat that early, but I know, I can hear you saying never to exercise on a completely empty stomach. So I don’t._

_The first run was this morning. It was a bit rough. Still, afterwards I felt pretty great about it, and my friends are game. I’m going with my suitemates, Neville, Harry, and Ginny. Ginny is the only one who has to psych herself to get into her running shoes. This morning I heard her promise over and over again that she wasn’t getting up before dawn to go running, she was just in it for the croissants. Of course she did come. She’s thinking of trying for professional quidditch after graduation, and the exercise will do her good and she knows it._

_I’ve also this evening had my first meeting around The Round Table. I thought you’d like to know. There present were Kingsley, the Minister for Magic, Narcissa, my patroness and member of the Wizengamot, Minerva, the Headmistress, Augusta Longbottom, member of the Wizengamot, and then Harry, Ginny, Neville, Ron, and Luna. Minerva promised for future meetings to allow my floo connection to be used, but only sparingly, and I do understand. The security of the castle is paramount. Not even members of the board of governors get to floo in for meetings. They have to hike up from Hogsmeade just like everybody else._

_It was a good meeting. I was able to present the information from my meeting with Queen Elizabeth II, Head Elf Grims, and Master Firenze, and the information about the prospective meeting with the Merfolk._

_As a side note, it was quite interesting, the dynamics of the meeting. For a while it was very awkward, because neither Kingsley, Minerva, nor I was really clear who was holding the meeting. Finally I just started directing the conversation and things got a bit more comfortable, I think. Not that I was overbearing. I think. Well, I hope not. I’ll take Ginny aside tomorrow and ask her. Luna too, but separately. Neither one of them will soften their answers to make me feel better, and they’ll have quite different perspectives, I think._

_Anyway, we discussed the role of the Regent in Avalon: largely unknown. We discussed the taking of the Seat: Kingsley will provide three teams of aurors to accompany us tomorrow - and we’re all going, oh yes, all ten of us, then again, if I were in their shoes, I wouldn’t want to miss that either - and Grims and a few elves will take us directly there and show us what they know. They have coached me on the proper way to discuss it with Grims: I’m not taking the seat, I’m inspecting it. And then we discussed coronation: all details largely unknown, except that the Crown will pay for it (hurrah!). I brought up the fact that whatever is planned, I would appreciate the Ministry’s help in crowd management, arrivals and departures, and some sort of recording and rebroadcasting system so that even those who aren’t attending could observe. I pointed out that I absolutely wanted all of the Hogwarts students to attend, if at all possible, all of their parents, especially the muggles, to be invited, and have their transportation facilitated, and that in addition to all the old families, and international liaisons, I wanted a certain number of seats available, or some sort of ticket lottery for new families, squibs, and muggleborns. Also, I wanted Elves, Merfolk, Centaurs to be present and participating to the degree they wished._

_When Harry groaned and asked, “what if they want to sing?” referring of course to the Merfolk, I was thrilled to hear Augusta Longbottom snap out, “Then we all put water in our ears and move on, Mr. Potter.” I don’t think she was mad, and I just smiled at him, but it was nice to see a no-nonsense woman at the table who won’t abide by any whinging._

_It goes without saying that I want you to be there. I just don’t know how quickly, or if at all, Narcissa and Minerva can make any progress. Certainly I’ve hit a dead end. And unfortunately, Elizabeth was quite clear in her views on waiting, in general, and waiting on me, in specific. To recap, ‘No.’ (It’s good to be clear on these things from the start, don’t you think?)_

_Anyway, that was when I brought up the elephant in the room. I’ll just tell you what I said._

_“I appreciate that it’s late, and we’ve covered the most pressing topics for the moment. And I thank you for your presence in the room. I feel I need to say one more thing. I’ve gotten the impression from a variety of sources that the three powers that are represented at this table - the Wizengamot, Hogwarts, and the Ministry - were all put into place directly or indirectly to deal with the power vacuum that resulted when Maria III left no heirs for sixty-three generations. I have no plans to challenge you for the return of power. I much prefer that power is in multiple hands rather than one, even mine. I hope to be able to work with all three of these power structures in the future so that we can all live brighter, happier, and safer lives, and enjoy the freedoms to which we have become accustomed. I hope that the Wizengamot, Hogwarts, and the Ministry will see me as an ally, and not a rival.”_

_There was an uncomfortable moment or two, and I made an effort to catch everyone’s eye around the table, but not everyone wanted to look at me._

_Kingsley cleared his throat, but didn’t seem particularly nervous. “Thank you, Hermione,” he said. “I appreciate your candor, and I’m sure this_ is _going to weigh on some people’s minds, but not mine. My real concern is whether or not the Ministry needs to subsidize whatever it is you’ll want to be doing, because that, I promise you, will raise a stink, especially if it happens on a regular basis.”_

_“I shouldn’t think that would be an issue,” Augusta said._

_“Nor, I,” said Narcissa._

_“Not knowing exactly what I will be doing, or what the future will bring, I can hardly make a definitive answer. But knowing which way the wind is blowing is helpful, so thank you,” I said._

_“Though it should be said,” Augusta added, “That those who were to become knights in October would have received a monthly stipend as a part of the benefits of being in the Knighthood of the Order of Merlin. As Hermione was to be one of that number, it would seem odd in the extreme that she should receive no stipend at all. After all, she’s not refraining from being knighted for any reason other than the fact that she currently outranks knights. And even as a viscountess, she might have received the honor if she wished. But certainly she can’t now, now that she’ll be the one bestowing it.”_

_And so it went. If I’m bestowing the honor, should I pay the stipend? I’m bestowing the honor, but I’m doing it on behalf of all of Avalon, so all of Avalon should pay the stipend? Should we send the bill to the Queen? Nothing was decided, but many thoughts were flung about._

_And tomorrow morning, just after breakfast, Harry, Ginny, and I will get to tour the progress on Grimmauld Place with Narcissa for a bit, though I understand she has to be at the board of governors meeting by noon. I wonder if she has anything else in store for us? Who knows. With Narcissa, anything is possible._

_And now, it’s time for bed._

_Love you,  
_ _Hermione_

* * *

_September 11, 199_  
_ _Hogwarts Castle_

_Dear Mum & Dad, _

_Today was a day of gadding about, as you might say, as well as buckling down and studying like mad. My current schedule is crunched, and though I've been promised a time turner, it hasn't been delivered yet._

_In the morning we went out with Narcissa, and I can't tell you the amazing progress she's made to Harry's townhouse. She rattled off her entire schedule of maintenance and rehabilitation, and though I'm sure you could appreciate the details, they really went in one ear and out the other. A few things did stay, like most of it should be done by Christmas, she was creating a back garden rather ex nihilo, and she uses muggle contractors for certain things. Like plumbing and electrical, roofing and masonry. She's knee-deep in the renovation, and I do remember that she first took out all the cursed things and the dark things, and that helped tremendously. As we walked through, the house was almost returned to a blank slate. Bare walls, though the plaster needed work, and bare wood. It looks… clean. Not necessarily physically, as there was dust everywhere because of the plaster. But I don't know, emotionally? Can a thing be emotionally clean and physically dusty?_

_And there's a ballroom on the third floor. You may be surprised to realize I didn't know this, and I've spent quality time in that house attempting to delouse it to no avail. It's a house of marvels, or it will be one day. One day just before Christmas of this year._

_Then I spent the rest of the day studiously reviewing my notes and writing papers and preparing for next week. I simply can't prepare papers to my usual level of perfection, but I've decided to put that aside for now. I no longer see academics as life or death. I will continue to get excellent grades because I will not allow something to pass me by if I am confused on the matter. But I no longer need to prove to the professor how much more I know than they were prepared to teach. Or perhaps I will, but I will reserve that for my tutors._

_It strikes me that if they are any good I may want to retain them for a few more years beyond my time at Hogwarts. And if they're not and the subject matter is still largely unplumbed, I could always seek out others, I suppose. Not that I need a mastery in any of these subjects, or at least, I don't think I do at this point, and of course that could change. But in particular blood magic and ley lines, if it truly is a large part of my work and I show an aptitude, it might make sense to pursue a mastery. If I don't, I'll constantly have to rely on advisors, and for some reason that rankles here where it doesn't in other places. Hmm. I'll have to consider that._

_Regardless, I got the week's worth of essays finished before I started this letter to you. I might have been able to make them better, but I'm leaving them as is. I'll do a little practical wandwork tomorrow after breakfast, and at 1pm we travel to Wales to go exploring._

_I suppose I should start dueling again. I haven't in a while. I'm rusty, and that has figured into my nightmares. But enough of that. I’ll see what the crew think. I bet Professor Flitwick would host a dueling club. An actual one, as he was a past champion, not like the one in second year._

_All my love,  
_ _Hermione_

* * *

_September 11, 199_  
_ _Hogwarts Castle_

_Dear Draco,_

_You’ve really upped the ante._

_First, thank you for the wine and cheese. If this level of excellence is normal, you have every reason to be very proud of your vineyards. Do you only grow Burgundy in Burgundy, or are your interests diversified?_

_Second, Luna Lovegood, whom you may recall and who has matured quite excellently (rather like a fine wine) is somewhat in love with your tapenade. I think for a decent sized care package that she’s not required to share, she might be very amenable to interviewing you. Your mother can attest to her fairness. She also quite enjoyed the cheese and burgundy. (Luna, not your mother.) Should a care package happen to be sent, I can drop a hint, though she’ll probably intuit it. She does most things._

_Third, I’m at a loss as to what to send you, which is sad, as I’ve been enjoying our exchange. May I instead recommend my favorite restaurant in Paris? It is muggle, of course, but excellent cuisine trumps all, I think. Les Freres Breton in the Boulevard de Grenelle. Of course, if you’re in a restaurant in Paris you will eat well because you are in a restaurant in_ _Paris_ _. But still._

_I hope your work in France leaves you refreshed and fulfilled._

_In the spirit of friendship,  
_ _Hermione_

* * *

_September 11, 199_  
_ _The Rosary  
_ _Vratsa, Bulgaria_

_My dearest Hermione,_

_Only you would lose a night of sleep to prove a point. I am not quite as entranced to hear that you slept naked because you slept cold. My secret to staying warm is twofold, both of which could perhaps be useful to you. First, I am hotblooded. How could this help you? Certainly if I am with you in bed, I would keep you warm without any effort, though you are of course correct. I would have to be dead not to want to have sex with you, Hermione, under even the most difficult circumstances. And to be sure if we had the privacy and you were snuggled up naked behind me, it is a certainty that I would want to make love to you. (To you. With you. What are your feelings about the grammar here? This is not something I wish to ask my tutor.) And yet, of course, if you were too tired, we could refrain. I would hold you, and that would be enough for the night. So there is that. Of course, this is useless information for present reality because I am not in your bed at night, and so any orgasms I offer you are entirely indirect, and of course my body heat remains, for the moment, entirely in Bulgaria. So I send you these. No roses today. Well, I haven’t actually gotten them yet, but I will wait to send this letter until tomorrow, and go shopping for you. Three down blankets, rolled up and reduced in size, and one duvet cover for the topmost blanket, also reduced. They are quite large, so end the charms on your bed. Once unrolled, let them sit for an entire day before you use them so the down can slowly regain its shape within. Three is for the dead of winter. Two is for moderate chill. One is for late spring and early fall. Make sure that you have enough properly placed on the bed so that they can cover your entire head, and then when you get in, squish them down a little and tuck them well round your neck. They will be so soft and light you will hardly know they are there. And perhaps one day if I am very lucky indeed, you will have to kick them all off in the middle of the night, because I keep you so warm._

_Ah, Myon. Those things I dare not say. Will I dare to say them when I see you? When I can hold you in my arms? I do not know a better opportunity, so we shall see if I, in the end, am as brave as you have always shown yourself to be. So now I change the subject._

_Gelwyn, hmm? I wonder if we have met. Possibly I snapped at her when I was half a shark, and will need to apologize at some point, if given the opportunity. I presume that the reason you met with two hundred adult merfolk in the middle of the night (almost an entrancing picture, except bubble headed charms, which I presumed you used, are never becoming on anyone, and you were not entirely naked, and swimming with me alone. Now that would be an entrancing picture.) is also one of those things we’ll discuss when we have complete privacy and the pleasure of each other’s company. We do indeed have many things to discuss, then. I look forward to them all, Myon, the ocean depths, and the rubber ducks of life._

_So rubber ducks are the bribery toys to get children to cooperate? Very reasonable. Let us have some for ours._

_Tell me more of the little muggle details of your upbringing, the ways in which those without magic have coped in its absence, where we have solved difficult things magically. Is, perhaps, air conditioning one of them? To cope with the heat of summer? How does it work?_

_It is eight days until I can hold you in my arms. You will be amenable, I suppose? I should not worry, perhaps. You have already been clear that you require kissing, and I am the man for you at the very least, in this way. When we have quiet moments alone and away from prying eyes (and rogue photographers, who are my bane, Myon), I will kiss you for as long as I may. Though perhaps not quite so long as that, as we have many things of a private nature to discuss as well. A day of exploring with you, flying with you, kissing you, holding you, talking with you. September of this year will be my very favorite month so far in life, ranking higher even than the first time I was_ _in_ _the World Cup (and of course_ _lost_ _the World Cup, oh the shame) and had my nose fixed by the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen in my life. Then again, this is also the month when you have been so beautifully explicit about your dreams of me, and I of you with you, and so many times, Myon, my heart has burst with hope that I can barely contain myself._

_So. You have grown two inches. This does not add greatly to your height, Myon. I, too, grow two inches when I stop slouching. But you have ever had beautiful posture. My mother, she despaired for me for so long. I could not help it, and quidditch did not help, either. Sometimes I just want to hide from being famous for my sport. Other days I shamelessly use the media, as I did with the French magazine. Either way, I have been working on maintaining excellent posture all the time. At the very least most people find me more intimidating this way, and so leave me more or less alone. (See? Scowling is so useful, Myon.) Slouching and trying to hide, paradoxically, proved to be an uncompromising magnet for attention I did not wish to have. But concerning you and your body, Myon I only want you to be healthy. Slender or voluptuous, I don’t care which. Healthy is what I want for you. Eat your fill, Myon, and do not pause to give a single thought for the rest. When you are feeling desirable, that I think is when you are the sexiest. When you are feeling happy, that is when you must be the most beautiful. And when you are sad and feeling low, that is when my heart aches for you, my libido takes a back seat, and I want only to hold you until you can laugh again. This is how it works when they are just your words alone, for I do find you beautiful and sexy, depending on your mood, and sometimes my heart breaks for you, my sweet Myon. I cannot imagine it is much different in person, except for perhaps more obvious. But do not apologize for having been in a war, or having borne through the deprivations of war, and for having it all take a toll on your body. Thank you for telling me how you have changed. I will update the vision I have of you in my head as best I can, and it will have to suffice for another week or so until I can drink my fill of you._

_But let us focus in on one particular thing you mentioned: So, Myon. I turn you into a sex-crazed creature of legend? I am okay with this, my sweet one. I know you could never focus on sex to the exclusion of important things like your studies, and your mysterious meetings with all sorts of people and beings, and so I have no fears for you in this regard. Only rather selfish hopes of my own that I will benefit from this. Eventually. And I seriously doubt the French magazine will break you. Perhaps there will be some good shots. And perhaps I will have successfully made love to the camera, thinking it was you. But, Myon. Please. Your body is stronger than this. It had better be. I have some very specific hopes for your body and it will have to withstand seeing me at the very least half naked with eyes that clearly convey my intent to make you scream my name. And speaking of names, sweet Myon, let me be explicit. You have my consent to speak my name whenever you feel the need. You are not some mindless fan who pretends to have a deep relationship with me and pretends to have my attention and affection. You do have a deep relationship with me, Myon, and you have both my undivided attention and as much of my affection as you are willing to accept. This has been the case for some time. And I am deeply honored that when your hand is between your thighs it is my face you see in your mind and it is my name on the tip of your tongue whether you said it or not. But do not bite your tongue on my account. At the very least give that honor to me. (I will be so gentle, Myon. And really, I only wish to be a very close intimate of your tongue. Biting need not be a present reality, unless you like it.)_

_I am entranced by the thoughts of the breathy sounds you describe. I should like to hear them directly in my ear. And I am deeply gratified to know that when I chant my new favorite litany of the flesh in my head, you know the one: fuck, Myon, fuck, Myon, fuck, Myon, oh fuck, Myon - that I may also imagine your response. I can hear it perfectly in your accent. I can hear you crying out yes, yes, yes, Viktor, yes! Mmm, I like that very much, Myon._

_Do I do you a disservice by imagining you not just pleasuring yourself, but giving and receiving pleasure with me? I hope not, for it has been a mainstay of my imagination for an exceptionally long time. But perhaps it is acceptable especially now when we have grown so particularly close? For I do feel so close to you, Myon, even though I am so far away. You have never been far away from my thoughts, but knowing I am so close to your own binds me even closer to you. What shall I say about the fantasies I have of you, of us? I yearn to explore your body, Myon, as we have explored thoughts and interests and hopes and fears and everything else that can be shared between two people. I want so desperately to know what gives you pleasure so I can be sure to do it often. And I like to think that your dedication to the gathering of knowledge will not fail you in the bedroom, and that you, too, will want to know what pleases me and exploit that knowledge in just such a way that we both are able to enjoy ourselves to the fullest._

_So, no. It is not just watching you bite your bottom lip, moist and beautiful that would set off a chain reaction in my body. It is anything about you, Myon, anything at all that I focus on. Remember, I want to kiss you everywhere. I want to explore every part of you. And the parts of you I have already seen abundantly feature most prominently - your legs, your face, your hands - but that is only because I have not yet had the good fortune to be introduced to your belly, your back, your breasts, the inside of your arms, the bottoms of your feet, the back of your neck, your bottom, and the sweetness of the secret parts of you I blush to mention, but not to think of. There is not enough blood left in my head to blush when I think thusly._

_I speak so boldly, now. And still there are things I don’t say. But please, Myon. Do not imagine I will be a sex-crazed ogre when I am with you next week. I would not, I could not do that. As much as I want you desperately, this can be easily put aside for more important things. I hope you will find me a perfect gentleman, though I have not always been in my letters. It does not seem to bother you here, but I would be desolated to know that my untoward desires had put pressure on you to do a single thing you did not wish to do in the moment you found yourself doing it, or the moment after. I share with you only my fantasies, only my desires. And they may remain simply fantasies for as long as necessary. Your happiness is far more important to me than my libido which bounces back very quickly, trust me. (Honestly, it is like feeding a dog from the table. It whines and pretends to starve, you feed it a choice nibble of steak and the satisfaction the dog has is, I promise you, only as long as the steak lasts in its mouth. Which it swallows whole. So, not that long. Then it is back to whining and pretending it has not eaten a single thing in two months. This is why never to feed dogs from the table, and never to allow the desire for sex to dictate all actions.)_

_I am thrilled you will visit Bulgaria with me this summer. I do expect to be in England, or Scotland, or somewhere on your island over there, very soon. If I do negotiate a good contract and switch teams, it will happen all very quickly. I sign the contract one day, I move the next, and if the next after that is not Sunday, then I am playing with my new team two days after I sign the contract. Very quick. Faster than letters can come and go from us, but when it happens,_ _when_ _, my sweet Myon,_ _not if,_ _I will write to you as soon as I know any useful details, like where you can send me letters, and whether or not I will be free to take you to dinner immediately (should you also be free). So saying, a summer visit to Bulgaria will be either extremely short, or in several pieces, as summer is the height of the season and I can only not show up if dead, or if I have previously negotiated special time off in my contract, say for instance handfasting leave, or paternity leave. Injury is no excuse, neither is visiting one’s parents. Still, I will have a day off, and that we may spend in Bulgaria. My parents will be fine if we spend every Saturday night and Sunday with them for a month or two. And that will work out to about a week’s visit._

_So you want to know everything I know about concordia roses? Are you certain, Myon? That would take so many letters, and I would have to put such security charms on them. I do not want to just speak with you about roses and possibly bore us both to death. I mean, I love them, but I have had enough of them for a lifetime, and that was by the time I was fifteen. Save me from the roses, Myon. I will say, however, that the concordia are not addictive, so have no fear. No rose we grow is, though they should not all be put in the same enclosed space if there are many of both kinds. For yes, we do grow a variety beyond concordia. We sometimes just call it the_ _other_ _rose because while both are very expensive and useful potions ingredients, the other is by far the most expensive flower on the market. That includes the frost daisies of Tibet, I would like to point out. There is a reason my family is wealthy and it is not the guard dogs. Sometimes we donate concordia to good causes - hospitals, the government, peace negotiations, for fundraising auctions. But never the other rose. Never, never._

_And yet, I cut one for the photo shoot. You will see it soon enough. I have saved it for you, Myon._

_I do not know how I feel about you wearing Harry’s shirt to bed. I think I may like to discuss this with you more in person, Myon. I do not wish to overstep bounds, or be a neanderthal, you understand. You say his wife approves of this? Let us say I am confused. I am also confused by Christmas sloths, but in an entirely different manner._

_On a brighter note, what are you reading in your bath, and have you already recommended it to me? Or should I add it to the list?_

_Also, the sexiest pajamas are no pajamas, Hermione. Try again with the down blankets. If you get in bed warm, you’ll stay that way. If you get in bed cold, it may take time to heat up, but once you do, you’ll be perfectly warm all the night through, and even without me there._

_Now, I will end this letter for the evening (it is Saturday, and tomorrow is my day off) and pick up again tomorrow afternoon when I have the rest of your gifts ready. Until then, my sweet Myon._

_September 12, 199__

_Good afternoon, Hermione! My shopping has been remarkably successful, and I have gotten most of your birthday presents as well. I am extraordinarily pleased with myself, as I think you will like them all. Also, as requested, and another reason for a day’s delay in the letter, a photograph fit for framing. This one is also reduced in size, but in reality not as big as the blankets. You are safe to end the charm wherever you like. I understand entirely not wanting to frame a picture from the newspaper. It’s so impersonal, besides all the scowling. I hope this one is okay. My friend Mikail took it for me and developed it as well, and he was quite picky about so many particulars. I just wanted a decent photo for you, where I am smiling just for you. He was just as bad as some of the professional photographers, except he at least was fine with me keeping my clothes on. He wanted me sitting casually on my broom, but I overrode him. Always, always I am pictured with my broom, and yes, I do love my broom, but it is not why you write to me, why you are my closest friend. So, instead you see me with a white concordia because I cannot help but to see the flower now, and be reminded of you._

_Myon. You are ever in my thoughts, sweet one. Stay warm at night, safe by day, and eat your fill. And do not scorn the rubber ducks of life, for they make up so much of the everyday._

_Thinking of you,  
_ _Viktor_

* * *

_September 12, 199_  
_ _H_ _ogwarts Castle_

_Dear Narcissa,_

_I read about it in the papers this morning. I’m so sorry for your loss. I hope that you and Draco are doing well._

_Affectionately,  
_ _Hermione_

* * *

_September 12, 199_  
_ _Malfoy Manor_

_Dear Hermione,_

_Your kind heart has not been overstated by any who so enthusiastically proclaim it. Thank you for your sympathy. We are as well as can be expected._

_I shall see you soon,  
_ _Narcissa_

* * *

_September 14, 199_  
_ _Hogwarts Castle_

_My dearest Viktor,_

_Well! You continue to spoil me and it’s a trend I’m starting to get used to. Be careful. As the muggles say, you may have created a monster._

_The picture is perfect. Absolutely perfect. I love that you’re posing with a white concordia and that they’re your family’s rose, and that it is so meaningful to me, and that it makes you think of me. I’ll have to nip out and get a decent frame for it, but for right now it’s just leaning against the vase on my desk, which is a beautiful framing in its own way. Your smile is so lovely, Viktor. I’m so honored that thoughts of me can make you smile like that. Thank you. Thank you to Mikail as well, for being so very insistent on the perfect picture. He obviously got it._

_I’ve had a down blanket before, but never ones quite so poofy, and never three at once. They are fluffing on my bed even as I speak. I shall report back once they have had enough time to completely fluff out, which likely won’t be tonight. Thank you in advance. I think I shall start with three, even though it is nowhere near the dead of winter, and certainly not by Bulgarian standards - I’m sure Scotland doesn’t even get that cold. Still, better safe than sorry._

_Now, grammar. Make love to you. Make love with you. Both are acceptable, it just depends on the sentiment you want to convey. If you are the primary actor and your partner is being quite passive, shall we say, you would certainly be making love to your partner. And if you and your partner are in more of an equal give and take, then it might be more appropriate to say that you are making love with your partner. Both do convey, I think, a gentler side of all intimate bedroom sorts of activities, whether or not one is strictly penis-in-vagina. Certainly I shouldn’t think that one would think of making love and a good hard fuck in the same moment, unless one is switching gears from one to another. Having never really gone there, however, this is all hypothetical. But speaking from a point of grammar and rhetoric, that would be my opinion, and I understand not wanting to discuss it with your tutor. (Imagine me grinning, please.)_

_Bouncing around a bit in your letter, I admit to being a bit relieved to hear that you will continue to be the gentleman I know you to be when we meet. I… in some respects I feel like I know exactly what I want, and in other respects I really am quite unsure. It sounds so foolish. You’d think decisions like these would just be easier, but not for me at least. But definitely don’t be such a gentleman you refrain from kissing me and holding me when we have the privacy for it. God, I want that so much. But then you want what you want. And perhaps I should refrain as well. Oh, damn, I have no idea what we should do, Viktor. No idea at all, really, and sometimes I just keep thinking in circles in my head and I end up going nowhere in the end. It’s all very frustrating, sexually and emotionally. Would it be alright if we kissed? Would it be alright if you held me, and I held you? And if we went no further, despite rampant desire and long-held fantasy? (And my recent nymphomaniac status, yes, I thought you would like that.) Is it just a terrible tease to be so overtly sexy and explicit in writing, and then so chaste in person? I mean, I do feel comfortable sharing these things with you, Viktor, partly because I’ve always felt comfortable telling you what was real in me, the deepest things, however much I might be judged for sharing them with others. But what I fantasize about and how I actually behave are usually quite different things. Though there have been times, three in particular, when I have acted on such base instincts and acted in ways that might shock you. Two I have no regrets at all for. One for which I live in constant regret. All three were highly questionable and two were very explicitly illegal, so I’ll save details for face to face conversations. And yet, I do not think I would ever not tell you. I would have no shame in telling you. And I would accept your judgement on my actions as being the sane and wise judgment, even if it varied quite predictably from my own. But two out of three isn’t good enough, and I know how deeply it cuts when I do something I profoundly regret. And I want nothing between us to be like that, again. It is enough that I was so rude to you when last we met. I have regretted that small action enough, however much I rationalized it away, however much you have forgiven me._

_Tell me, please, how we should act. I do not want to offend you by putting my needs before yours. Give me your opinion on this. If it will be nothing but a chaste kiss of your lips on my hand, the feel of your arm beneath my fingers, Vitya, even that would be enough for me. Even that would sustain me in a very powerful way. Even if there were no intimacy at all, I would be in the presence of my deepest, wisest, most thoughtful, and most caring friend. I have already faced the prospect of losing that last year, Vitya, and I can’t bear to face it again, not when I have been offered it afresh._

_No. I will not cry on this letter. DAMMIT. Ignore the tear stains, Viktor. Just ignore them._

_September 15, 199__

_Alright. I went back and reread all the letters you’ve sent from June to the last one. It’s possible that I was getting a bit worked up, and I hope I’ve had enough perspective to understand that you would respect my wishes if I wanted no intimacy, but just because I want some and you want that and more, doesn’t mean we both have to deny what we both want. And that we both share our fantasies and they all remain largely fantasy until such time as we are both in agreement on what we want and that it is very explicitly the same thing… this must be good. We both desperately want to share, and it seems we are both driven to distraction by the other, though we both manage to do outstandingly well in our day jobs, as it were. (I flatter myself that I will continue to rock academia back on it’s heels in my eighth year, as I have done in the past six, and you are clearly on the top of your game, or so says the Daily Prophet Quidditch Staff Writer, who extolls your virtues in capital letters. It’s Quite Adorable, Really.)_

_But you know, you are. Harry is my best friend. And he assures me I can have two. (He does - me and Ginny.) And you are my deepest, wisest, most thoughtful, and most caring friend. And also my best friend. Not my other. I have two._

_I will say, what I feel for Harry is rather more like a brother. And what I feel for you… well, it involves licking down your chest, among other things. So don’t be upset about me wearing Harry’s jersey to bed. It makes me feel safe, because it reminds me of both of you and I know Harry would die for me, and I am watching the growing pile of evidence that you would live for me. Christmas sloths must remain a muggle mystery, I’m afraid. They’re adorable. That’s the only explanation I can give. Super cute. Put them in a Father Christmas hat and the heart of your average muggle just melts. It is, in fact, like magic without the bother of memorizing charms._

_Much like air conditioning. It’s a device, usually quite large, that operates on electromagnetism, an energy source found naturally in the world, and also an energy source capable of being created with the right sort of other devices, which cools an enclosed space by the twin virtues of removing excess water from the air (humidity) and adding a coolant to the air. Sometimes it’s a device you put in an otherwise open window that serves to block the opening, sometimes it’s a device that is largely outside of the home or office, but that conditions the air through large ventilation pipes that run in and out of every room. It was invented many decades ago and has revolutionized life in countries that get very hot in the summer, or countries that never really cool down at all in the year, and thus power outages can turn deadly in high heat because people so heavily rely on the A/C that they have either forgotten older methods of staying cool (darkness, breezes, hydration, ice to the pulse points, sitting in a cool bath or pool) or they no longer have access to such methods. And that is your muggle lecture for the day._

_And a pause for stark admiration of your letters. Viktor, I love your letters to me. As I write back to you, I’m constantly rereading to make sure I address what you’ve said when it needs addressing (or sometimes just when I dare), and yet again I just got so caught up in reading that I didn’t surface until the end. Totally defeats the purpose of rereading while I respond to you, but I just love your letters. I love how you put things. I love listening to you speak, for I can hear your voice so clearly in your letters, Viktor. I can hear you._

_So, returning to content. Thank you for your kind words about my body. They were harder to hear than I like to admit, but I will continue to consider them. Thank you for what could very well end up being a healthy challenge to my world view._

_I am heartily amused that visiting your parents in the summer will consist of bite-sized morsels of visits. So be it. If they have no problem with it, I certainly don’t._

_Do you need rescuing from roses, Viktor? I feel this is a deeper issue I’d like more information on before I commit all of my resources to the task. Which naturally I am willing to do. But I have been burned in the past, trying to rescue people who were actually just fine and not in need of rescuing, so I like to check, now. I am glad to hear none of the roses are addictive, though. I shall continue to surround myself with concordia and be thrilled for their effect. I do note you’re beating around the bush concerning the_ _other_ _rose. When will you tell me about it? Is it a state secret? Is it significant that you cut one for the photo shoot? And what, precisely, happens when a few dozen of each are in the same room?_

_Also, I find it an obvious inevitability that I will eventually get all of your rose cultivation lore out of you, if only in pieces. Not that I have any personal interest in cultivating roses, but it’s such a part of who you are. I’m frankly shocked you care at all about things like A/C units, but I do honor that it’s a part of my life you’ve never experienced and it’s all a second nature to me, and so you are naturally curious. So it goes. I will explain arcane muggle life and you can explain to me about the roses that help peace negotiations, at least for a start._

_I am reading_ _Henry V_ _by William Shakespeare, which is a play. It was written around the turn of the 17th century and in the earliest form of modern English which can be very difficult for those for whom English is not their first language. It can be very difficult for native English speakers. Still, my parents were fans, and I grew up loving it and having it explained to me in great detail at a young age. In the muggle world, Shakespeare is still accepted in all English speaking countries as the foremost author and playwright that has ever lived and put pen to paper. He wrote histories, tragedies, comedies, and sonnets. There are very few I don’t like and none I haven’t read. I will tell you when I see you why I am rereading this play in particular._

_Now. The down blankets are all fully fluffed, so I’m going to make an attempt at sleeping naked again. I’ll add a bit at the end of this letter on my success or failure tomorrow morning, and send it off forthwith._

_But before I end for the night, and now that I have ironed out my momentary hysterics regarding sex, fantasy, and what will actually occur and not occur on the 19th, allow me to tell you how you make me drool._

_Viktor, you literally make my mouth water, and it’s confusing because I obviously don’t want to eat you literally, and yet my body seems content with some sort of living metaphor and reminds me that when you’re sweaty you’re also covered in salt that I could lick off._

_I am highly, highly amused by your likening your libido to that of a dog begging for food at the table. While I’ve never experienced a dog, of course, your description is hilarious. If that is what it is like, which is hard to believe but not to imagine, then I can see why it is an easier thing for you to draw the same firm boundaries with your libido as with the dogs your family trains. You are, at least, very familiar with the process even if you end up using it on yourself._

_I like the idea of learning your body, though it is a bit daunting to imagine you want to learn mine. I have some rather ugly, prominent, and physical scars, Viktor. One across my torso and bisecting my breasts, healed but still horrifically ugly. (Both breasts are intact, I should say. It’s the area between them the scar travels.) One on my arm. I should just tell you what it says, but oh God I don’t want to. And the curse is gone from that one which means it’s no longer constantly bleeding, inflamed, and horribly painful, but the one lingering characteristic is that it can’t be glamoured. I can cover it with a bandage, or cloth, but otherwise it’s visible. For it to be invisible, I’d have to cut my arm off. Which seems excessive, especially now that it’s healing, so I won’t._

_So long as we’re entirely clear that fantasies will largely remain fantasies (unless they are quite tame indeed, and I have plenty of those, too) until the unspecified future, then I am at liberty to share the following facts;_

  * _When you smile and you are really engaged in discussion, you are breathtakingly beautiful._
  * _When you scowl at the camera you are somehow still quite sexy, and when you stare at me like you have in the past, like you do in the photo, you are so distractingly sexy I could swallow my own tongue. Viktor, just admit that you are sexy and stop scowling. An enigmatic smile would put them off their game, you know, and as my mother has always said, you get more with honey than you do with vinegar._
  * _The French magazine is likely to render me speechless and panting with lust, likewise if we do in fact, eventually advance to the point where you are half naked in front of me, in person, giving me what I will blithely call bedroom eyes, I may remain largely speechless and panting with lust. I may, however, manage your name and some obscenities._
  * _While I do have some rather tame fantasies, including just being able to chat with you over dinner, to feel your hand in mine, to walk arm and arm through shops and down the street, I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t dreamt of you pressing down on me, sinking into me, feeling safe all the while. While the exact picture of the mechanics eludes me, though I have tried to figure out based on how tall we both are, where, for instance, your face would end up in such a scenario, in general terms the fantasy is quite clear and a frequent visitor to me of late. (CF, nymphomaniac comments.)_
  * _I make a variety of odd little breathy sounds, some of which I am embarrassed to admit to. You may end up discovering them for yourself._



_Four more days until I can see you for myself. Oh, Viktor, I can’t wait. And it can’t come soon enough._

_Waiting with baited breath,  
_ _Hermione_

_PS - I was so warm, Viktor. I had to kick off the top layer in the middle of the night! Success!_

* * *

_September 15, 199_  
_ _Hogwarts Castle_

_Dear Elizabeth,_

_I hope this letter finds you and your family well. I have many things to impart in to you here, so I hope you do not find it too long. In no particular order, I shall dive in. But before I do, please forgive me if I explain things you are already aware of. I would rather err on this side, rather than the other._

_I’ve started my special tutoring, and while the subject matter is uniformly fascinating, I do have an instinctive loathing for two of my tutors, the two who could only be swayed to take the job once they found out whom they would be tutoring. Well, I shall learn what I can from them and then hopefully never see them again after graduation. Unfortunately, one of them is the foremost Pendragon historian. Fortunately, it happens that there are others who remember better than magical humans, what the Pendragons were actually about, even if their viewpoint is very particular, indeed._

_To that end, I have had meetings with the Minister of Magic, a delegation from the Centaurs, a meeting with the Head Elf of the Pendragon Elves (who knew?), and I’m due for a meeting with the Merfolk on the 24th at which point, who knows? I might be given Excalibur by Gelwyn, certainly a lady of the lake, and the fearsome and courageous Chief of the Love (word for merfolk village). It involves dinner, which means one must keep one’s stomach while eating raw fish, underwater, possibly having just grown gills for the occasion. Hopefully the gills will help with the desire to eat fish raw and wriggling. I’ll be sure to let you know how it goes._

_A side comment on why the wrought metal was put in the safe keeping of others, rather than in the Pendragon vault at Gringotts, which is the Wizarding Bank. Gringotts has a sterling and international reputation, is run by the Goblin Nation, and certainly existed when Maria III was around. The Goblins mint our currency, are at a constant state of war with all counterfeiters, are terrifying enemies to have… and their culture is rather different in some key respects. Their smiths are the best in the world, and they take commissions. But according to their custom, when their customer dies, the commission should by rights be returned to them, not kept as an heirloom. This of course is_ not _a practice in most human cultures of which I’m aware. And naturally, the things which Goblins wrought are not only very valuable, but highly powerful artifacts. Their swords, for instance, are the one of the few things that can destroy certain dark artifacts, and certainly the easiest to obtain and control, despite their rarity._

_It is_ inevitable _that the Torc, the Ring, and the Sword were all Goblin made, so you see why they could never, ever be brought to the vault to be stored. Better to risk possible loss or theft elsewhere which also holds the possibility of recovery, than certain repossession and permanent loss._

_I digress. When I take The Seat (what that entails, I’m not yet perfectly certain), a certain portion of the merfolk, centaurs, and elves will come with. It is notable that throughout our recorded history, only the elves have lived closely with wizards, and then in a state of perpetual servitude. The merfolk and centaurs are proud, powerful, armed, and wary of humans both magical and nonmagical. Yet at Hogwarts, there is a herd of centaurs and a love of mermaids who are living warily adjacent, if not exactly with, a large if transient wizarding population. Yet believe me, they trust the Pendragons and have done so for time out of mind (for wizards, not for them), and have been waiting for their return. There’s something there, but I don’t know what yet._

_Now, I’ve also gone to inspect the property in Wales. There is a castle and a lawn more than gigantic enough to host a coronation plus any festivities we could think of. The old castle, called The Curtain, surrounds a group of standing stones that are, I think, on a crossing point of four minor ley lines. There is perfectly preserved furniture in every room, so it’s fairly obvious what they’re designated for, but I think everything that could be relocated to the vault was. I hope that if we have the coronation here, which I think would be the best idea, you and Charles and your personal secretary will come and stay with me for a few days at least, and enjoy what hospitality antiquity and modernity can combined provide. Despite lack of indoor plumbing, I believe there are reasonable equivalents, though I have yet to have an in depth conversation with the elves in charge of that._

_In front of The Curtain is the New Palace, which all the elves abhor. But Elizabeth, it is the finest piece of entirely preserved (down to the very furniture), entirely intact classical Roman architecture I’ve ever seen or heard tell of in documentaries. It’s clearly a palace for the senses, and while magic is used heavily, it is predominantly Roman. I’m guessing from what I’ve been told that it was finished around 600 AD, though it took a good deal of time to build, and then charm. It is built in a perfect square, with a square courtyard in the exact center. The courtyard has environmental charms on it that act similar to a greenhouse, and it is in bloom. I recognized citrus trees, but the rest was beyond me. The courtyard also can host banquets. The front rooms are more for entertainment and gathering, the middle rooms are resting or sleeping, and the back rooms are an entire Roman Bath. Which apparently still works, though the water isn’t running right now._

_Inside the outer wall are several outbuildings for the maintenance of living and agriculture, and then there is the outer wall, which is octagonal. The back three panels are perhaps three storeys high (The Curtain is four and the New Palace is one), but then the two side panels taper off, and the one front panel looks like standings stones flanking stone embedded in the round, while the two panels that flank the front one are more like knee walls. But at each turning there are what look like spikes, or standing stones, just over three storeys high, and so I think I know how it goes. In peacetime, there is free egress. And with a word, or a spell, or possibly a drop of blood, since the Pendragons are inordinately fond of blood magic, wards come up between the connecting stones. The Curtain is built much the same way, only with four sides not eight, and with magic so intense it’s obvious. The New Palace is obviously an indefensible piece of fluff, and from that point of view, I understand why the elves are irked._

_Beyond the outer wall is the great lawn which stretches all the way around the wall and slopes gently down for perhaps half or three quarters of a mile on each side. Stretching toward the castle, out of the woods that surround on every side, is a lake, where the merfolk will reside and possibly clean it of pests and irksome magical life so a bit of recreational swimming is possible. (One ought not swim in water infested by grindelows. Imagine a sentient, malevolent cross between a piranha and a small octopus, and you’ll be on the right track. Not a match for a well-armed adult witch with her wits about her, but it doesn’t do to frolic about in their waters.) Not that the merfolk will kill beyond the need for food, but they will contain and enforce boundaries, and as northern merfolk more closely resemble sharks than sirens, they are very good enforcers._

_The woods, of course, will belong to the Centaurs._

_The elves have assured me that the castle wards have been well in place and are as strong as ever, and there are warding charms on the great lawn and the lake as well, to prevent muggles from being able find it. I went out with a team, including a team of aurors who secured the perimeter of the entire reserve, ensured that there was currently no one inside aside from us, and then warded the edge of the whole perimeter against muggle entry. This is not to say you won’t be able to come in, it just means you’ll need to be escorted in and out, but that’s only polite. We also put up wards against apparition, though we reopened and reconnected floo travel, though only to and from a few places for now._

_For the time being, I’ve handed my proxy for the Pendragon Wizengamot seat to a trusted associate, Madam Augusta Longbottom, mostly because the Wizengamot meets during the day, on the three days of the new moon, and I had classes to attend and no time turner. When I get one I’ll be able to selectively be in two places at once, and I’ll take my proxy back, but until then it was better to give my proxy than skip the meetings entirely. I didn’t like the message it sent. So you know, I didn’t send the proxy with Narcissa, my patroness, for a few reasons, all of which she understands. She approves of my decision. Narcissa, until very recently, was On The Wrong Side of the war. She defected, abandoning her husband in order to save her son. She is eager to redeem her family name and that of her husband’s family (who has recently been executed). Had her sister lived, she might have had war crimes to answer for (from this war and the last), and I was one whom she had tortured. Well, most recently tortured. Hence making me her heir. Well, her decision was more complicated than that, but I’m sure you can intuit the rest of her motives. We all tentatively trust her about-face, and I’m making peace with her son, who is my age and who attempted to bully us through our school years. I say attempt, because when someone else is actively trying to kill you, how do you take a bully seriously?_

_Which brings me to the stories of How We Nearly Died in our first year at Hogwarts. Here is the extremely condensed version._

_The Defence Against The Dark Arts teacher was being possessed by the disembodied spirit of Tom Riddle, the dark lord we recently killed (actually, this time, no more disembodied spirits, thank you!). He had a significant grudge against Harry, for reasons you may have gathered from the newspapers already. So early in the year he let a troll into the castle, it cornered me in a bathroom and I would have died if Harry and Ron hadn’t known I was missing and come to find me, instead of run back to their common room when told. (They rarely do what they are told, you will find this a theme in my stories.) They could barely do the most basic of spells, (I could, but I was terrified) but managed to get the troll’s weapon away from it, stick a wand up its nose, and bludgeon it into unconsciousness. No one died, though we did get house points for ‘sheer, dumb luck.’_

_That year we also stumbled upon Tom feeding on a Unicorn during a detention in the Forbidden Forest. (Our detention, not his obviously. And I’ll take a detouring diatribe on what Hagrid thinks is safe for students to do another time. Perhaps I’ll save it for the perils of third year, when he taught Care of Magical Creatures. But we got the detentions to begin with because we were out after curfew, visiting Hagrid who was busy hatching a dragon in his hut. A DRAGON, ELIZABETH. Dragon eggs are Class A Nontradable Goods for a reason, because they contain_ DRAGONS  _. A Norwegian Ridgeback he named Norbert. Set his beard on fire, the big idiot. It was later sent away to live in a colony in Romania. Fear not, Norbert does not reside in your northern country, though she does figure into the fourth year attempts to kill Harry. I digress.) Anyway, Tom rushed Harry and would have killed him then, but was saved by Master Firenze, who later became a divination teacher, and who I’ve been meeting with as a liaison to the herd. He is, of course, a Centaur. At that exact time I was only imperiled by the general nature of being in a profoundly dangerous place with only my idiot friend Ron, a lantern, and a half-giant who has no sense of just how sturdy he is compared to everyone else. Hardly counts, really._

_We were also nearly eaten by a cerberus named Fluffy who was about fifteen feet tall at the shoulders. (Owned and beloved by Hagrid, of course, but loaned to the Headmaster for his little obstacle course.) I’ll grant you we were where we were not supposed to be in a general sense, but in a specific sense and with a great deal of hindsight, I do actually think that the then current headmaster and general of the war was playing a long game and training Harry and whatever friends he had to do what needed to be done. Which is a crap thing to do to a bunch of eleven and twelve year olds. By the end of the year, Harry, Ron, and I passed the cerberus without being eaten, only Ron was nearly strangled by the devil’s snare, but only because he couldn’t remember his basic herbology, idiot, and then there was significant danger presented by the larger than life-size wizarding chess set, as we had to play our way across and we don’t regenerate after being killed, unlike the chess set, Harry was good enough on the broom that the keys didn’t kill him, I got him past the poisons using logic which is in shockingly short supply in the wizarding world, and then heard later that in the final challenge Harry got the philosopher’s stone by being entirely selfless (not a surprise to anyone who knows him), and he also killed our Defense teacher when attacked._

_Given all of this, there are only two things I regret from first year. One, that I did not stand up to my roommates earlier, who all hated me because I was awkward rather than pretty and intelligent rather than personable. Two, that just before we went off to engage in the Headmaster’s little game, one of our housemates tried to stop us, and I petrified him. Just temporary, you understand, to give us a few minutes head start, but it was a crap thing to do, and I still regret it. You know, I think when I finish this letter I’ll go knock on his door and apologize._

_Now, finally to coronation thoughts. Please let me know if this is not entirely the thing, but I was thinking along a few different lines._

_People who attend: Guests of honor, international dignitaries, and representatives from the three powers that filled the vacuum of Pendragon absence, the Wizengamot, the Ministry, and Hogwarts, all of these, of course. All of the old houses, the sacred 28 and the 50 beyond that, yes. But I am a woman born of muggle parents. I’ve had the insult ‘mudblood’ carved into my arm by a cursed blade, and the scar will always be extremely visible. (Glamours do not obscure it, only bandages or cloth.) And it is important to me that muggleborns, new families, squibs (non-magical children of magical parents), and muggle parents of magical children also be in attendance. They are all members of Avalon, if you will. I would like the children of Hogwarts, and their families to attend. Also Centaurs, Merfolk, and Elves._

_The ways and means could be managed by the Ministry, and the bill added to the pile. They are well conversant with transportation, crowd control, security, etc. I was thinking of a lottery for invitations beyond those specific ones. This would come out to a crowd of under 10,000, I think, which I estimate to be about 10% of wizarding Britain. The Ministry is also willing to set up repeater stations - somewhat like broadcast television, though the wizarding world mystifyingly has no such thing as telly._

_There could be a reception in the New Palace for special guests, but nothing would be required, I think, for the masses… well, except for the other part of my plan._

_So, wizards have a way of BYO (bring your own) that outshines all others in my limited experience. Imagine wizards attending a three day festival, for instance. There’s a camping ground? Of course. Various sized tents, yes, yes. And the smallest little two-person tent? Crawl inside, and suddenly you’re in a cosy two-bedroom cottage with a full kitchen and two large bunk rooms, to boot. Extension charms._

_So I’m imagining a three-day festival, with the coronation somewhere in there. We could put up a quidditch pitch and invite teams to do exhibition games. (More on the wizarding sport later.) We could invite a few circuses. We could offer vendors space, for a fee, which would offset the costs. We could also sell some souvenirs (nothing tacky), which would also help to offset the cost. And I’m dreaming of a stage, which isn’t so far fetched, really, where some popular wizarding stars could perform… but really, I want to introduce Shakespeare back into the wizarding world. I’m sure they embraced him at some point (how could they not have done?) but he’s fallen out of favor such that no one knows his name. Which I find totally insupportable._

_Unfortunately there is the quite important International Statute of Secrecy to maintain, so I’m wondering if there are enough squibs who are decent actors to put together a cast. While not remotely Royal Shakespeare Company, one must start somewhere._

_Anyway, that would be a thoroughly magical experience, as you say. You would not be the only nonmagical people present, though certainly none could wander in uninvited. Come to think of it, neither could any wizards nor witches._

_Do tell me if I’ve gone completely off the deep end. I’m not one for quidditch, personally, but the rest of the world goes mad for it, and it would be very impressive to have periodic exhibition games. I’ve never seen a magical circus, though I have seen Cirque de Sole, and it could be quite fun, likewise the stage, with or without the Bard. I suppose the reason I’d rather it be a three-day festival rather than just one formal ritual is because I don’t hardly expect everyone to be happy about the return of the Pendragons, especially people who have clawed their way to the seats of power and are worried that I’ll snatch it away from them. While I have no intention to do so, I should like to take control of the narrative as much as I can. While I cannot sway the determined and power-hungry with music, sport, and circuses, you can believe that the rest of Avalon would be pleased._

_With that, I close this letter. You’ll also find in this packet the particulars for becoming a major subscriber of the Daily Quibble, and the ‘muggle mom’ subscriptions of the Daily Prophet and The Quibbler. It’s sent through the Royal Mail, wrapped for security, and comes a day or two late, but you’ll get it. I hope you enjoy this past Saturday’s Quibbler. They were fun interviews, and I think Luna did well._

_Fondly,  
_ _Hermione_

* * *

_September 16, 199_  
_ _Buckingham Palace_

_My dear Hermione,_

_Never apologize for long letters or needed explanation._

_I am all agog with the idea of your coronation, and I agree with you in most respects. I do believe it should be festive, and I agree with your idea of directing the focus. It is a celebration, not in the archaic and religious sense of the word, but truly a time to be happy and celebrate. We should focus more particularly once plans begin to firm up on how you will present this to the media, and of course you should consult with your advisors on this most particularly._

_I do not agree that no food or drink should be offered to the masses. If they are largely catering themselves, it need not be a five course meal, but cake and champagne would be most appropriate._

_Concerning Shakespeare in the short term, could you not take out an ad in your newspapers seeking actors with an awareness of Shakespeare, either wizarding, squib, or muggle parents in the know? It may come to nothing, or may bear unexpected fruit. If you can get the actors, I imagine you can get the rest of what would be necessary. Without the actors, it’s all moot, short term._

_Concerning Shakespeare in the long term, do see if you can get him added to the curriculum. If you can boost interest across the board, you may consider sponsoring the Regent’s Shakespeare Company. That has a nice ring to it, don’t you think? That stage of yours could be of a more permanent duration. Shakespeare outdoors is both traditional and extremely popular._

_I think we shall all be most interested in spending a few days as your guests. My personal secretary knows of Avalon, but Charles does not yet know. I have been keeping a journal of many things, including Avalon, for Charles to review upon my death, hoping it will help him along in ways I wish I had when Papa died, but I think it is time to tell him plainly. I do not doubt that he understands there are things to which only certain people are privy. Avalon, however, may stretch the bounds of his credulity to the snapping point. It did mine, until I demanded your minister present himself to me and prove his otherworldly capabilities. So saying, I would like to know if you would be willing to come and do a bit of a demonstration. Please let me know if nine in the morning on Saturday, September 25th will suit. It is a day both Charles and I have free, and I have tentatively booked a meeting with him, then. If not then, look to other Saturday mornings in your calendar and propose some other dates to me, please._

_Now, to coronation dates. Consult with your advisors and see if there is a particularly appropriate time within the next six months. I have nothing pressing on my calendar that must be avoided. Still, allow me to confirm it before you go ahead with other scheduling._

_Concerning souvenirs, do not forget tee shirts and specialty programs. Everyone always loves those._

_Do find out the best you can from your unctuous little historian if you will be first of your name, Hermione, or not. The elves, if in service, may also have a clue about this._

_Finally on the subject, you must delegate the planning and execution of your coronation festival. Not to the ministry, but perhaps Augusta and Narcissa could be persuaded. I would trust them to get the feel of the thing right and to continue to ask for your opinion as important questions emerge._

_Now, to your former Headmaster, I do not think I care for his tendency to train child soldiers. It is a practice I have been universally against in the past and I find no good reason to change my mind. I’m certain that his reasons were legion. They always are. Still, there are lines one must not cross, particularly when one has the power to cross them. Do tell me his name, so I may know of whom I disapprove so heartily. Also, I find fault at his hiring of predators. This is not a practice I encourage or condone, either. What are your thoughts, I wonder, as to why he kept his job after your first year, for I get the impression he did._

_I am glad you are finding your classes and tutoring satisfactory, and that you are such a studious and intelligent woman. Do make sure that you get out and have some fun on a regular basis, or the strain of it all will only continue to increase. Also make sure that you include in your advisors people entirely unlike you in your views and your natural proclivities, but who are still trustworthy and good._

_Your interview in the Quibbler was quite good indeed. Luna certainly is quite sympathetic. There were several statements you made which might have been misconstrued had she a mind to do so, and she obviously didn’t. Do be careful in future interviews, especially if and when you speak to reporters from the Daily Prophet. I quite enjoyed the interviews of the others, as well. Your friends and associates sound like a fascinating group of people. I look forward to meeting them at the coronation._

_I’ve included the translations you’ve asked for and the address of the linguist I’ve been using. I’ve also provided an introduction to you as a bright young thing I’m mentoring named Hermione Granger, and that is all quite technically true. Our Welsh language expert will be expecting a letter from you, soon. I hope you’re able to access the contents of your vault, soon._

_Do tell me if you receive Excalibur. (Allow an old woman some vicarious excitement, child of Arthur. And keep an eye out for the stone in which it is meant to reside.)_

_In friendship,  
_ _Elizabeth_

* * *

_September 16, 199_  
_ _Hogwarts Castle_

_Dear Elizabeth,_

_September 25th at 9am, Buckingham Palace. I shall bring a small demonstration with me, and I shall prepare for a rather larger one, if it is either necessary, or desired._

_You can be allowed vicarious excitement, or you can ride the broom yourself, daughter of kings._

_Yours,  
_ _Hermione_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone pointed out in the comments that Viktor is a sexy beast. My husband and I both wholeheartedly agree. He is, in all the best ways.


	13. Chapter 12, part 1 of 2: Wherein Hermione celebrates her 19th year.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione’s 19th birthday goes stunningly better than her 18th.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As this chapter is 38 pages long, it will be split between two uploads, today's and tomorrow's. Enjoy part one!

The day before her birthday, Hermione very carefully opened the magazine-sized package from Viktor at breakfast and she did this without actually unwrapping the package in anyway. In the normal exchange of their letters, he should be receiving the last one she sent sometime today.

She peeked inside to see if there was a letter, and swiped it out before she could really examine the moving picture on the front cover. She knew what it would be.

* * *

_ September 16, 199_  
_ _ The Rosary  
_ _ Vratsa, Bulgaria _

_ My own Myon, _

_ As promised, the French style magazine. I hope you enjoy it, as I don’t know if I’ll have the wherewithal to do this sort of photo shoot again. I may go back to scowling after this. I charmed the pages to be impervious to water, in case you decide you need to take it into the bath with you, and another few charms for durability, besides. _

_ The photos, which are mostly moving, have undoubtedly caught me mouthing certain words. You might be able to guess what they are, but I shall not tease you, for I want you, very explicitly, to know. _

_ Fuck. Myon. _

_ I hope it brings you much refreshment, for your sake, and I hope for mine that you will write at length concerning it. _

_ It may not seem it from this photo shoot, but I promise you I am more than a well-toned body filled with sex hormones. But since I am also that,  _

_ Enjoy,  
_ _ Viktor _

* * *

“Does Viktor send you a single letter without some sort of gift in it?” Ginny asked over second breakfast in the great hall, glancing over her copy of  _ The Quibbler _ . Everyone else was quietly reading some sort of news media while munching on eggs and toast.

Hermione had blushed to the roots of her hair, and well past her collar after she read the letter at breakfast. She had carefully fitted the letter back into the brown paper wrapping and then put the whole thing, rolled, into her beaded purse which she still carried these days in lieu of a book bag, which were always rather heavy. She needed to get working on her bag project, but of course the question was always  _ when. _

She cleared her throat and needed to take a few sips of tea before answering. “Well, not lately.”

Ginny dropped it, though she continued to quietly smirk her way through breakfast, but Hermione turned her admirable focus onto her own copy of  _ The Quibbler _ and did a fairly decent job of concentrating.

It wasn’t until all her studying and running around was finished that she was able to give herself a solid hour in her bedroom alone with the magazine to really thoroughly enjoy its contents. She made herself read the article first. It really was an unconscionable piece of fluff, except that it might advertise to useful teams that he wanted to move. There was that. 

And then there were the pictures. Twelve of them. Four large ones, two of which were full page. Eight smaller ones, four of which were a small little series at the bottom of a page.

Viktor. Against a background of stark red roses. Shirtless, as promised. Brown corduroy trousers very nearly falling off his body. Muscles gleaming in the sun. Wand sheath on his forearm. Chest entirely hairless, but a very tidy and happy looking trail pointing the way down from his navel across hard abs to what would be revealed just as soon as he shimmied, or you tugged. He had black short boots on. His black hair was curling riotously, and there was a bit of a breeze. It was sometimes brushing across his eyes, and it made Hermione want to reach out and brush it back.

Some pictures he was posed with his broom. Sometimes with a single red long-stemmed rose, which must be the empassionata referenced in the article, or for preference the  other rose.

And then there was the cover photo. On his broom, but sitting back, one hand on the manicured bristles, that leg on the ground. The other leg folded up properly with boot in the stirrup, and that hand gently held the long red empassionata against his thigh. The camera got a three-quarter angle on him and he was looking at it, and at the beginning of the movement loop it was like he caught the camera’s eye, and then the slow blooming smile across his face that somehow didn’t just speak of joy, but also sex and a lot of it. At the end of the loop he raised the rose to his face and deeply inhaled as he closed his eyes.

Now, why didn’t she have a dozen or so empassionatas? Hermione felt somewhat petulant until she turned the page to find his interview again, finally letting herself really see the pictures.

Sweet baby Jesus.

He sat on his broom sideways. He held it over his shoulders. He held it handle down, bristles up, his arm wrapped around it and his elbow hooked on the stirrups. He kissed a rose and then held it out to the camera. He trailed it with his head tossed back from his throat, down his chest, over the center of his abs, down the happy trail and the loop cut off  _ right _ before the rose touched his obvious and just barely covered erection.  _ Oh my God.  _

And in every single picture,  _ every single one,  _ Viktor was shirtless, with muscles clenching and releasing, and clearly muttering something to himself.

_ Fuck. Myon. _

Hermione was more turned on than she ever remembered being, and did something about it, forthwith.

* * *

_ September 18, 199_  
_ _ Hogwarts Castle _

_ To the sexiest man I’ve ever met in my life, _

_ It honestly felt like I was looking at pornography. I only read the letter you enclosed with it at breakfast today when it came, and that was just as well. I saved the rest for later, after I had finished everything else I needed to do. Just before I began this letter, as a matter of fact. _

_ Fuck, Viktor. _

_ Were you straight up imagining fucking me? You were, weren’t you? My lips on your chest instead of the rose? All the way down to that beautiful bulge? Please be aware of the power you weild. Should we get into a fight, just make love to me with your eyes and know that you’ll likely win. _

_ These pictures, you in these pictures, almost,  _ _ almost _ _ make me want to have sex with you on your broom. At the very least sink to my knees in gratitude and finish unwrapping my present, and then proceed to the licking and the sucking and the kissing. As a tool for personal transport and sport it has it limitations, but it could have merit as a sex toy. _

_ Well, you were shameless for me. I suppose I can return the favor. _

_ God, I want to know what your cock feels like inside of me. Are you strong enough to hold me up as we have sex against a wall? I bet you are. I’d put all those glorious muscles to use, Vitya.  _

_ I may be no good on a broom, but I bet I can ride you just fine, and I’m dreaming of doing so. I wonder, does one position over another feel different? Or is variety simply the spice of life? I’m so looking forward to finding out, Viktor. _

_ It might be entirely unwise and impractical, but I imagine you taking me right there in the grass, right in front of those beautiful red roses. (Where are my red roses, Viktor? I demand red roses as well. Though I do love the concordias, those are clearly not them, and you just made love to a red rose, which means I need to have it. You said you saved it for me, and I hope you haven’t forgotten about that, because I see a magazine and no pressed red roses.) And anyway, back to the fantasy, those brown trousers have finally lost their purchase on your hips, oh, so sad, and you’ve kicked off your boots and you’ve got nothing but your wand sheath and whatever wizard’s staff you were hiding not-so-well behind those trousers. And I’m naked in the grass underneath you with only my wand sheath on my arm, a treasure trove for you to plunder, and I want you to kiss me everywhere, Viktor. Everywhere. Kiss and suck and bite and lick. Would you? In my imagination you are just as enthusiastic as you seem to be in your letters, and so you don’t hesitate and it feels so good I have to moan your name. Could you get me to scream it, though? That’s my lingering question. It’s easy as anything to moan out Fuck, Viktor, Yes, Viktor, and mean it. But screaming is an altogether different thing. I’d have to completely lose control. I’d have to be insane with desire. It would have to be a really, really good orgasm, Viktor. _

_ Will you take that as a challenge? _

_ I hope so. _

_ Utterly lost in a haze of lust for you,  
_ _ Hermione _

_ PS - I’m not sending this. I’m handing it to you tomorrow before you leave in the evening. This is novel, and I love it. _

* * *

Hermione’s 19th birthday dawned grey in Scotland, and like every other morning, she went running with her suitemates. When she rolled out of bed, there were gifts on the chaise, but glancing at them briefly only made her eyes tear up. None of them were from her parents. Not this year, not last year. Perhaps not any year ever again.

She took a deep breath and did her pre-run morning ritual without looking at them.

Hermione went out into her suite’s sitting room only to discover other gifts, next to the tea tray. A big box and a smaller one. Ginny insisted that she open them while they had their first and most civilized meal of the day. Somewhat reluctantly, she did so.

The small one was from Neville. It was a leather wand sheath that could be fitted to a belt, decorated with two little enameled daffodils, the national flower of Wales. It was a formal piece, and could be added to nearly any outfit, unlike her arm sheath. She thanked him profusely and ate a croissant before tackling the larger box from Ginny and Harry. She also drank an entire cup of tea. 

When she opened it, she had to do a double take. Knee high boots. Very clearly custom, and obviously from the same (extremely expensive) outfitter they’d gone to the Saturday morning before with Narcissa. She stroked her hand down the red leather and shivered. “Is this-”

“Chinese Fireball,” Harry agreed.

_ Red dragon leather boots. Bespoke red dragon leather boots. Bespoke knee-high red dragon leather boots.  _ Hermione was a little bit in love.

“Look under the boots,” Ginny advised.

Hermione picked up the gloves. Gauntlets, more like. The hands were well fitted, but then past the wrists the gloves flared out and ended halfway up her arm.

“We were thinking you should wear them today, just in case Viktor takes you for a ride,” Ginny said, grinning.

“On his broom,” Harry clarified.

“Either way,” Ginny argued.

Neville choked on his tea and waved off their concern.

Hermione was simply beet red. She took a deep breath and thanked them very sincerely, and pointed out that bespoke, knee-high, red, dragon leather boots were probably going to be a present high point in her life, and it was all downhill after this.

During the run, Ginny planned Hermione’s outfit, down to the lingerie. Neville and Harry ran up ahead.

Hermione tried to point out that it wasn’t going to be like that, even if it was like that, and then they had a conversation about whether or not virginity was a real concept. The conversation was more of a good-natured argument up until that point.

“I will grant you, there is a benefit to waiting,” Ginny agreed. “Well, not waiting for everything. But waiting to have penetrative sex, at least, and I do mean any sort of penetration, here, it’s not always about virginity, at least not from the woman’s point of view. Men trying to safeguard their property do put a lot of stock in who messes with their womenfolk, but it’s the only bit of blood magic I know. If you wait until the handfasting, you can do any number of rituals for the benefit of yourself, your husband, or your family, but only if you wait.”

Hermione sighed as well as she could, being already somewhat out of breath at this point in the run, even after two and a half weeks. “Yes, but what if the hymen is torn already? I’m nineteen, for heaven’s sake. I’ve never taken to the broom, but I’ve used tampons and I’ve ridden a bloody  _ dragon.  _ If that didn’t tear it, I’m not sure having sex with Viktor would, either.”

“No, no, the blood magic is about mingling both of your blood at the time of your first orgasm with first penetration. It was a little tricky, let me tell you, to coordinate. I love him, you know, but stamina took a while to build, and that first time?” Ordinarily Hermione would have stopped her due to overshare, but this was too fascinating. “Not so much. But we planned for that, and so I worked him over  _ very well indeed,  _ and he’d done the same for me, got me right to the edge with his mouth, and that made things easier.

“Pureblood birthrates being what they are, I’m sure my parents opted for the fecundity spell, but I don’t need to have seven kids, and Harry’s not a pureblood. We argued over choosing a spell that would have meant protection for him, because I really wanted that, but he convinced me that a peaceable family would be better for all. I see his point. A family at peace seems like a really nice thing to me.

“I mean, you want to shag Viktor, do it, by all means. But you  _ have _ gotten this far refraining, so you  _ might _ consider the possibilities for him or whomever you decide to settle down with. Of course, it only works if he’s refrained from a penetrative orgasm with another person as well, and I don’t know him well enough to comment on whether that might be,” Ginny finished, gasping.

“I don’t either, and that does bother me a bit, considering that I do at least hope to get a birthday snog out of this.”

“Well, it very likely may come  _ up _ today,” Ginny said, grinning at her double entendre. “But whatever you do, don’t be afraid to talk about it. Besides, you haven’t learned about it yet, but there may be some obscure Pendragon versions of this. I mean, take those standing stones in the center of The Curtain. It strikes me that was a place a lot of little ancient Pendragons were conceived. I mean, ancient Britons put a lot of store by that sort of thing. Midnight sex alfresco on the solstice, kind of thing. I have some novels I’ll loan you. It’s a very popular theme, and it might be popular for a reason. I mean, maybe it was just an excuse for having sex outside. We certainly don’t do that now, and we certainly don’t have an audience for it, either. Though if someone told the purebloods it was a way of boosting fertility, I bet you it would come back into fashion like  _ that _ ,” Ginny said, snapping her fingers and gasping out her words.

“So back to your outfit, I think you should go with the tighter jeans, the ones I said made your butt look so good? Also the most excellent boots and gloves - you can tuck them into your belt when you’re not using the gloves - and that cream silk camisole underneath your black v-neck sweater, the cashmere one? The v-neck will look nice with the locket Narcissa gave you. Then I think you should really wear the belt holster Neville gave you, rather than your arm holster. Hair in a simple braid, and no make up at all. You really don’t need it, and you want to be kissable without having to rush off and fix your face. But I think you should go with the black lingerie rather than the red. I don’t think the red is the exact same shade as the leather, and the ideal scenario from his point of view would of course be boots, gloves, bra, knickers, and nothing else. Aren’t Vratsa’s colors red and black?”

“Yep,” Hermione said, wondering how Ginny could talk so much and run so fast at the same time, even if she was gasping.

“So what did you decide on for the day? I know you were waffling.”

“Well, the mealtimes are set, everything else is fairly flexible. A picnic lunch at noon on the lawn overlooking the sea at the Cottage. Dinner alfresco at the “new” palace in Wales at six in the evening. I admit, I’m having the Twins splurge on this, and I realize I’m doing this as compensation for not having my parents aware of my existence on my birthday, again. But we’re having lobster for lunch and steak for dinner, and that’s just the way it is.”

“Babe, I’m sorry. I haven’t wanted to ask how it’s coming, but I have been dying to know.”

Hermione shrugged. “Narcissa and Professor Flitwick are working on it. They haven’t told me of their progress, but I also haven’t asked. I figure I’ll check in once a month until they give up, or until I can’t bear to ask anymore.”

Silence fell between them until Ginny broke it. “So, you’ve completely lost hope, then.” It wasn’t a question.

Crying and running did not an adequate combination make. Hermione sniffed and blinked until the urge was gone.

“Mostly. I still write them, almost every day now. But I wonder how much I’m doing it to help them catch up when they remember again, and how much I’m doing it to process thoughts and emotions, and just feel closer to them, even though… yeah, even though it’s probably never going to happen, not really. I mean, I’m okay with either reason. And I probably won’t stop talking to them, even when… even  _ if  _ all avenues are exhausted.”

“Come on, Hermione. Give them at least a year of concerted effort before you really give up hope. The Professor knows experts in his field and only Merlin knows what kind of dark avenues are open to Narcissa that aren’t open to the rest of us.”

Hermione groaned. “I don’t want them to have to use dark magic on my parents.”

Ginny shrugged. “It could be argued that Obliviation is dark. I mean, so long as there’s a statute of secrecy it’ll never be considered an unforgivable, and I’m not gainsaying what you did in the least. Tom would have loved to have killed your parents, and I’m sure he looked for them. But in the larger picture, or in a different culture, I think Obliviation would be considered dark. And sometimes, like your arm, it takes something ugly and painful to heal it up. And I’m not surprised it was hard for you to even consider such a solution. But just because you didn’t doesn’t mean others won’t. So don’t give up hope.”

Hermione sniffled and blinked and bumped her shoulder into Ginny’s in silent thanks. 

When they got back, Hermione and Ginny mutually decided that Ginny would pick out the other woman’s outfit while she was taking a quick bath and lay it out on her bed, and Hermione would open her other presents and get dressed while Ginny bathed behind the bath screen. They chatted all the while.

“Let’s see, Narcissa, this one is from Augusta, huh, this one’s from your Mum, something from Ron, something from Minerva, something from Kingsley, interesting. Interesting.”

“Well, I want to know what Mum sent,” Ginny called.

“I really don’t know if I have time to open all of these right now, Gin,” Hermione pointed out, still in her bathrobe.

“It takes two seconds to put on jeans. I’ll braid your hair. Get on with the presents, already.”

“A cake,” she said bemused, opening Molly’s first. “I’ll bring it to breakfast.”

“Hah! You are a changed woman. Cake for breakfast. I’m living in a new world, I tell you,” Ginny quipped as Hermione reached for the next present on the pile, the one from Augusta Longbottom.

“Ooh, it’s a matching holster and belt from Augusta. Same pattern as Neville. They coordinated, clearly. Nice belt. Decently thick, not those tiny things you see. Nice knife, too. I’m sure I’ll use it at the Merfolk dinner.”

“Nice! A good knife is indispensable. My mother swears by them. Never leaves home without a good sharp one.”

“Do  _ you  _ ever leave home without one?” Hermione asked, intrigued, and pulling the next present to her. It was from Ron. 

“Nope. I have a nice pocketknife that largely stays in my pocket. Got it for my sixth birthday.  _ Very  _ handy. I always keep it clean and sharp. You never know.”

“Ron sent a collection of rather decent chocolate. Looks like at least half is dark chocolate, and there are a bunch of truffles in here.”

“Finally graduated from Cockroach Clusters, has he?”

“Apparently,” Hermione said, popping one in her mouth and talking with her mouth full quite on purpose. “Have one when you come out. They’re lovely.”

“You are getting decadent on your birthday, woman! Chocolate before breakfast? I like it!”

Hermione was opening Minerva’s gift. It was… “Floo powder?  _ Minerva got me floo powder, Ginny!” _

“Bloody  _ hell,  _ that means she connected your fireplace for common use, doesn’t it? Well, bugger me,” Ginny said, swearing profusely.

Hermione was shaking her head, and gently putting aside the beautiful glass container filled with ash. She pulled Kingsley’s gift toward her.

She opened it, then laughed. “Kingsley gave me a time turner! I suppose it’s not on loan, then.”

“Oh, you  _ are _ a lucky bitch. I don’t suppose Harry and I can hop on occasionally? It’s just that with all the studying there isn’t much time for sex, and by god I need my sex, Hermione.”

Hermione laughed so hard she snorted. “I’m sure that won’t be a problem. Let’s discuss it later.”

And then Hermione opened Narcissa’s gift. It was a shimmering white gown. Hermione pulled it out and then described it to Ginny. “I’m not sure if I’m meant to sleep in it or wear it to dinner, but it’s beautiful.” Just then she thought how beautiful such a gown would be in blue, and  _ suddenly it was. _

Hermione blinked. “It changes colors, FYI.” She tucked the wrappers in her trunk - some of the paper was beautiful, and she wanted to line one of her boxes in it - and then left the gifts on the bed and quickly got into the clothes Ginny had left out for her, and none too soon, for just then Ginny emerged, popped a chocolate in her mouth and cooed over the dress.

“No, no, no, no, no. You’ve got to try this on right now, Hermione. It won’t take long. I’m dying here.”

Hermione sighed. “Fine, but I’m changing right here. I don’t have time for missishness,” she said, sitting back on the chaise lounge and pulling her boots back off. When she was just in her lingerie, Ginny handed her the dress. Once she had pulled it over her head she could feel it tightening up in the bodice. The neckline was sweetheart but still hid her torso scar, the back had a very slight train, and the front rose in a sharp vee that started just outside her toes and ran up almost to her knees. When she walked, the entire lower portion of the dress flowed like a train behind her and when she stopped it settled gracefully around her feet, almost obscuring the slit. The arms were tight-fitting until the elbow, where there was a slit down the material all the way to the hem which would be just past the wrists. The  _ other  _ scar was clearly visible.

Just then the dress was shimmery white, but soon Ginny demanded to see what the different colors might look like. Royal purple. Chinese fireball red. Robin’s egg blue. Pale pink. Forest green. Daffodil yellow. 

“Enough! I’m putting my clothes back on. Come braid my hair, you silly mare.”

And soon enough three of the four were making their way down to breakfast, and Ginny caught up, out of breath, once they reached the table. As Hermione was bearing cake, she had several visitors and well-wishers that morning.

* * *

Hermione arrived five minutes early at the Leicester Portkey Station. She’d never had a cause to be there before, and though portkeys were neither early nor late,  _ ever,  _ she also didn’t quite know her way about, and thought it might be useful to have a look around the station. Happily it was very well signed.

Everything was ready. The elves had their instructions, the floo connections had been checked and double checked. She was carrying extra floo powder. No one needed her today and everyone knew she’d be out. Of course, Tampy and Pampy could always find her, Grims, too. And there were always patronuses if push came to shove. But really, there was no reason to be this nervous, or for Hermione to have her wand out and fidgeting with it.

The clock ticked and the big hand shifted to fourteen minutes past the hour. There were three arrivals platforms, and Viktor and seven other people arrived at the center one. It was a bit like watching eight bowling pins being dropped from a height. Some maintained their poise, and others didn’t. Viktor landed in a crouch and then straightened back up. Regardless of the traveller’s comfort, they were quickly ushered back on their feet and off the platform.

Viktor strode over to her with a medium-sized and oddly-shaped case in one hand and a red rose in the other and Hermione drank him in. He wore a black suit jacket that looked like wool, a crisp white button down shirt that had the top two buttons undone, and a matching pair of trousers. His riotously curly black hair was partly swept back and partly fallen down over one eye. He looked like he just finished doing a photo shoot for GQ. That French photo shoot did not do him justice, even if he was half naked in it. He had gotten handsomer, somehow. How on earth did that happen? Did he  _ need  _ to be handsomer?

_ Damn. _

Hermione stowed her wand with a smile, fumbling with it slightly, not used to the new sheath. Still, she couldn’t wipe the smile off her face. Oh, God… he was  _ here. _

He set the case on the ground and bowed before her, heels together, and Hermione waited a full two seconds after he was fully upright before she launched herself at him in a complete embrace. She could feel the extra inches she had since they’d briefly dated in her fourth year - four years ago. But mostly she could feel  _ Viktor.  _ The solid strength of him. My God, he was  _ huge. _

He held her tight and leaned back, picking her up off her feet, breathing his nickname for her in her ear, “ _ Myon. I’ve missed you.”  _

“ _ Vitya,”  _ she whispered, full of a strange sort of relief she couldn’t have anticipated to just being here, in his arms, even in a brief hug in a portkey station. All her fears about fantasies and pressure and sex were entirely absent. There was only this; the comfort, the safety, the acceptance.

He put her down and their embrace slid apart until they were holding hands with a rose between them on one side, staring at one another.

“You are radiant, and very beautiful, Hermione,” he said, bringing the rose to his lips, and then to hers, and in this way, giving it to her. “I am glad to be here with you,” Viktor said with an intensity in his gaze that took Hermione’s breath away.

She looked down at the rose. It was a long rose cut shorter just like the one in the photo shoot, and when she breathed it in she felt a frission race up her spine. Clearly it was the one he’d saved for her.

“Thank you, Viktor. You’re looking excellent. And I’m glad you came,” she said, blushing and looking away, unable to  _ not _ think about sex at the moment. She walked slowly and he joined her, tucking her hand in the crook of his arm. In the other hand, he held the mysterious case. “Are things well with you? At home?”

He nodded and gave a light little grunt in the affirmative. “My mother sends her love, and my father wishes to know if the rumors are true.”

Hermione huffed a little, but grinned. “Well, I’m sure you’ll be able to give them an earful when you get back.”

He nodded. “You have our day all planned? All buttoned up?”

Hermione shrugged. “I have the meals planned, and I wanted to show you two new places that are very important to me, but there’s a lot of flexibility. Was there something in particular you wanted to do?”

_ Sex? Did he want to have sex? Did she want to have sex? Why oh why couldn’t she think of something other than sex? They had agreed. This was not a time for sex. Kissing, yes. Embracing, yes. Sex, no. Stop thinking about sex, Hermione. _

“Will you fly with me, this time?”

Her breath caught in her throat. “Yes,” she squeaked out. Then she cleared her throat. “I will.”

“Excellent. I did not bring my broom. Take me to a decent quidditch shop and I will get one for you.”

“Viktor, you can’t! We’ll do it another time.”

“No,” he said lightly but definitively. “I have wanted this for a very long time. I dream of the day I buy you a broom. That day is today.”

She gave in more or less gracefully and they paused at the fireplace as she told him the address.

She was evanescoing herself as he came through, and she did for him as well. Diagon Alley spread out before them as they popped out of the particular store they’d arrived in and went down four doors to  _ Quality Quidditch Supplies.  _

He tucked her hand back in the crook of his arm and in they went to debate the merits of the latest racing broom and whether or not Hermione actually needed something that went 300 miles per hour.

Viktor won.

She also walked out of the store with a pair of goggles, a leather helmet, a broom maintenance kit, and each of them having only signed two autographs, each.

They stopped to get a coffee and sat outside with a charm Viktor wandlessly provided for muffling their conversation. Hermione filled him in on Narcissa naming her heir, all she had discovered so far about being a Pendragon, and the Queen’s own actions.

And after all that, Viktor wanted to know why she flinched when he had touched her left forearm.

She sighed and filled him on everything he didn’t yet know concerning the wound on her arm. And the fact that it was finally starting to heal, but it still hurt sometimes.

“You vill let me see, yes?”

Well, it was better than telling him what it said. She sighed and gingerly pushed her sleeve up, and carefully peeled up the tape and pulled back the surgical pad. Viktor was cradling her hand in his own, and his forefinger ghosted over the final ‘D’.

And that was when they saw the flash of photography. They both sighed at the same time, then met each other’s eyes, and then  _ laughed  _ at the same time. He carefully taped her arm back up as she pulled some sickles out of her pocket and tossed them on the table for the coffee. She picked up her bag, he her broom and his case, she finited their privacy charm and they both turned their heads at the same time and spoke the same words in tandem.

“No comment.”

Hermione led them to Gringotts, who offered free local floo use to all of their clients with vaults, and it was certainly the only place in Diagon Alley she wished to verbally reveal their destination.

When she came out of the floo and dusted them both off, she spread her arms and said, “Welcome to my castle in Wales. If it has a name, I don’t know what it is.” She grinned and he laughed. “Come on. There’s plenty of privacy to fly. The whole place has wards against apparition for now, but I opened the floo for today so we can come and go easily.”

“I will teach you to fly, and then we will fly around and you can show me what it is like.”

Hermione shook her head. “From outside there’s not that much to see. It’s all blood magic and extension charms, I’m afraid. Except for the stones, and the “new” palace, which I gather was a paltry 1400 years ago. The elves are very much looking forward to the next battle in which they hope it will be the first thing to go. I haven’t pointed out to them that it’s the best preserved example of Roman architecture in the world. I don’t think they would care, even if I did. Right now we’re in the Great Room of the Curtain. The Curtain is gigantically large and I’ve gotten slightly lost in it, and it’s really all extension charms,” Hermione said, leaving the maintenance kit in the bag by the floo, and the rose on top of the bag. Viktor set his case down next to her bag of supplies and Hermione took out the goggles and helmet, and led him out the main doorway, a large metal studded thing of solid oak planks.

Stepping outside The Curtain, they came up against the back of the New Palace, which looked exactly like the sides and the front of the New Palace. Columns. Lots and lots of columns. They were all carved in the style of the Roman Facis, a bundle of reeds tied in the center with an axe stuck in the tie, but instead of the traditional axe, these all had a short sword.

Hermione had quietly wondered since she first saw it if she was looking at a carving of Excalibur, over and over, but there was no way to tell, as yet.

Without any fanfare at all, Viktor patiently taught Hermione, all over again, how to mount her broom, and when she was comfortable with it, Viktor cast the tandem spell that would make it a bit more comfortable for him to ride behind her. It extended the cushioning charm and added another set of stirrups. She’d ridden on Harry’s broom, briefly, without it the last time she was here, and it was a miserable experience. The tandem option was the reason, in fact, they had opted for the  _ most expensive racing broom in the shop.  _ Hermione didn’t like to think of how much it cost, but consoled herself with the fact that Viktor earned a fine living, and if he wanted to blow his money on a broom for her, she could hardly argue in good grace.

When he was snuggled up  _ directly behind her butt  _ Hermione was back to thinking about sex again. It was rather hard not to while being actively spooned by a man she found devastatingly attractive. When he spoke, his breath moved the hairs on the back of her neck, and on the side. One of his arms was wrapped  _ securely  _ around her waist and the other was on the broom handle, and his chest pressed down hard on her back, forcing her to bend over the broom and settle more firmly on his lap.

_ Oh my God. _

“Breathe, Myon,” he instructed quietly.

Hermione panted. She was so turned on it was  _ insane.  _ Had she ever been this aroused? Not even during the occasional bout of masturbation had she been this aroused. Not even yesterday, watching him chant  _ fuck, myon, fuck, myon,  _ and looking all edible and sultry. Now, today, here, she could feel the heat of his body  _ radiating  _ through her. He was huge and he seemed to surround her. It was like she was drowning in him in the best of ways.

“Deeply. In and out,” he said. 

She tried, she really tried. Didn’t work.

“You don’t have to be afraid, Myon. I won’t let you fall,” he said, his voice quiet and steady, his arm tight around her middle, so reassuring, certainly. But really all she wanted to do was grind against him and moan audibly.

“Not afraid,” she panted. “Not exactly fear I’m feeling right now, Viktor.”

After a moment he asked tentatively, “Is this still alright?”

“Yes,” Hermione said, and she accidentally said it on purr.

His arm reflexively squeezed around her, pulling her tighter onto his lap, and into his groin. She wasn’t aware that tighter was even possible while still wearing clothes. And  _ then  _ he started kissing her neck. Tiny kisses. Light brushes of his lips, and Hermione was shaking in his arms.

“Come,” he said, and Hermione was about ready to go wherever he wanted. “We fly now, while you are too distracted to be afraid.”

And he took her through the paces gently and with kisses to her neck every time she succeeded in doing the small task put before her. Soon she was starting, stopping, turning gently, steering up, down, and doing mild accelerations.

As she guided him around The Curtain and the New Palace, he quietly spoke in her ear. “Just think. We might have been doing this for years, Myon.”

She snorted and focused on the strength of his arms and the solidity of his legs beneath her, and the broom. “I was fifteen. That would have been a monumentally bad idea.”

“I was seventeen,” he whispered. “I was full of bad ideas, and most of them centered around you.”

“Really?” she asked, dubious, but remembering what Harry had said, and also trying to focus on guiding the broom in a gentle circle around the largest features inside the outer wall.

“I have been in love with you for years, Hermione. I thought you knew.”

Her eyes rounded and she reflexively pressed herself back into him not because it was such a huge shock at this point, but because he finally said something, and he finally labeled what it was. Love. For years.  _ Love.  _ Viktor was  _ in love with her.  _ He was a thoughtful, dedicated man (not to say he wasn’t also sex on a stick) and if he said that he loved her,  _ he meant exactly that. _

“I can see now that you haven’t,” he said, his tone thoughtful.

“Why are you telling me that you love me, on a broomstick?” Hermione asked, confused and somewhat outraged.

“What better place?” he asked peacefully, returning his kisses to the back of her neck. When he bit ever so gently she groaned and shook. She shook her head to clear it and steered them back so they were hovering just three feet off the ground on the wide green space in front of the New Palace. They could dismount at this point if they wanted, but she presumed he wouldn’t.

“I love you, Myon. You’re the only one who has ever seen me, past the sport, past the athlete, and still liked what you saw. And I see you. I loved you when you were fifteen for your beauty, your intelligence, your loyalty, and your wit, and you have become only more radiant. More lovely.”

“You… don’t think this is moving a bit fast?” It’s true, there were the letters. And they had gotten somewhat hot and heavy, but that had all happened in the last three weeks. And they’d been just friends for years. Well, she’d thought they’d been just friends. Oh, dear.

His hands shifted and he pulled off his thick riding gloves and tossed them to the grass. Then he put his hands on her hips and pulled her in closer as he sat up behind her. She rose to meet him and pulled her gloves off, then tossed off her goggles and carefully removed her helmet, trying not to mess up her braid.

“Truth,” he said, prefacing his statement as he whispered directly in her left ear. “My father suggested I be utterly honest with you as soon as possible, before a line of potential suitors forms at your door. I am terrified. I can’t even face you. It’s safer this way.”

Hermione scoffed. “After all our letters? And that photo shoot? And you just spent the last half hour kissing my neck, Viktor. I don’t believe you’re scared at all.”

It was just a small laugh. “Knowing you are attracted to me gave me courage enough to say it. Mm, the kissing helped.”

“Just so we’re clear,” Hermione said with confidence that surprised her, “I’m looking forward to a lot more kissing today.”

Viktor growled, and it went straight to Hermione’s lady bits. “I’ve had dreams like this,” he pointed out, his thumbs massaging her hips through her jeans, and underneath her wand and knife holsters.

“You know, I’ve never been really properly, thoroughly kissed,” she pointed out.

“Swing this leg around, in front of you,” he said, patting her right hip and holding her more loosely about the waist, now. As she carefully did so, he hauled her back toward him, but sideways, with her legs over one of his. Her bum wasn’t exactly centered over the cushioning charm, but she felt quite stable. Her arms were around his neck. “Yes,” he whispered, looking into her eyes with devotion, “the dream went something like this,” he said.

Their lips touched softly and it was a touch, and then another touch, and then another and another, and Hermione’s lips parted. And then she was kissing just his top lip, then just his bottom, then sucking them into her mouth slightly, nipping at them as her fingernails scratched gently at the back of his neck.

Viktor licked at her lips, which was a great idea, really. She followed suit and who knew that their tongues, the feeling of their tongues sliding against each other would be so brilliant?

She pulled back, panting. “In the spirit of total honesty, I don’t know if I love you, yet. But I’d like to find out. But you should realize that as much as it would be fucking brilliant, I’m not looking for…” she searched for the word. “A brief liaison,” she settled with. “And because of the depth of responsibility that I have here, in this country and  _ to  _ this country, I can’t… I’ll  _ never  _ be able to live in Bulgaria. I don’t want there to be any confusion about that. And I’m sorry, because it’s totally unfair for me to be unwilling to compromise, but I really can’t.”

One of his hands was cradling her cheek, then. “I came here knowing that might be the case. I found out it was definitely the case and I am here, still. Holding you. Telling you of my love. I understand that I have the job that can move from country to country, not you. My parents are resigned that I may wish to reside permanently 1500 miles away, and they would like you to be prepared for their visits which may last many months. They do not like the idea of missing their grandchildren growing up.”

Hermione nodded slowly, taking this in, somehow not surprised that Viktor had thought it through even more thoroughly than she had.

“Just so you know, the coronation, the date of which I have only slight control over, will be sooner rather than later, but I wouldn’t be willing to marry anyone before I left school. I mean, I realize Harry did, but I’ve already been given so many special accommodations, I don’t want to ask for more when I can employ a little patience and wait eight months. Not saying that we’re going to get married. Just, you know. In general.”

He smiled, his thumb rubbing against her cheek softly. “Will you let me court you, Hermione? Me and no one else? Until you decide?”

“Yes,” she said, strangely out of breath, and decided to kiss him. When that was finished she looked him straight in the eye. “And you? No groupies? Just me?”

He smirked. “It has always been just you. You, and dreams of you. I wait for you for four years. Eight more months is fine.”

She kissed him softly and sweetly before pulling back with sadness in her eyes. “Then I’m extra sorry for how I acted two summers ago at the Weasley wedding.”

He shook his head. “No. No sorrow. Not any more. And next time danger comes, I will be beside you, and neither one of us will leave the other behind, yes?”

Hermione neither agreed nor disagreed, but tucked her head under his chin, against his chest and murmured that it sounded nice. Never would she put him in danger, however. Never. He rubbed her back and held her for how long she didn’t know.

“Var is hard. It is so hard. And we have to things we deeply regret-”

And then came the tears, in a flood.

It wasn’t just her parents. It definitely  _ was  _ her parents, but it wasn’t  _ just  _ her parents. All the spells she cast in battle. All the rage. All the many, many moments of terror, all of her regrets and resentments. The stark hatred she felt for Ron when he left them, and too when he came back, well fed and filled with bonhomme and apologies while they continued to starve. Carrying mind-twisting horcruxes and believing the toxic lies they told to be truth.

Facing a dragon. 

Facing Fiendfyre. 

Facing Bellatrix without a wand.

Hermione had been so filled with all manner of negativity for so long and she just wanted all of it gone. And she didn’t want to hate Ron anymore. Or Professor Snape. Or Draco. Or Narcissa. Or any of them, really. Even hating Tom took too much effort, caused her own self too much pain. And the hope Ginny wanted her to hold out for her parents was full of anguish and shame, and Hermione didn’t know any other way to hold it, which is why she wanted to let it go.

And so she cried.

Hermione cried as she hadn’t ever let herself cry. Somewhere along the line Viktor had produced a handkerchief, and that helped to save what was left of her dignity. Tears were one thing. Snot was another thing entirely. And when she fell to her knees, off the broom and forward with her hands supporting herself on the grass, (dignity gone) Viktor was rubbing her back as she vomited, and banishing it afterwards. He offered her first a wet cloth, and then a small cup of water which she used to swish her mouth out. She made it a point never to drink water produced by magic, not after last year.

She collapsed onto her side in the soft grass and felt Viktor curl up behind her, tucking his body around her, and pulling her head onto his arm.

“Sorry,” she croaked. “And thank you.”

Viktor shushed her. “I love you. You are safe now. You can begin to really heal, now.”

“Yes,” Hermione sighed, her voice still raw. “Yes, I’d like that. I’d like to heal. I want it more than anything, really. I want peace. Not just a lack of war, but peace inside of me, and peace outside of me, and just... peace.”

“I want that for you, Myon, and I want that for me.”

They were silent as they lay for a long while. Hermione mindlessly looked at the sideways view of the New Palace from the level of the grass.

There were a lot of columns. No glass. No walls, in the usual sense. Just misty magical barriers between rooms that you could walk through like a doorway. Receiving rooms at the front. Bedrooms along the sides. Full on Roman Bath at the back, including Communal Toilet and what she had been assured was a still-operable steam room. It was apparently the best of Roman architecture and water management combined with an ingenious use of charms and blood magic. Grims had given her an overview and instructed her to seek out an elf whose name she could not remember.

Apparently each elf had a specialty, which they called lore, and even though they hadn’t used most of it, they trained in it each year so the knowledge would not be lost. At least three elves trained in a specialty, and all helped with maintaining the wards and cleaning.

It was fascinating, really. And the system worked much better than the ones most humans used to preserve knowledge through generations.

Hermione’s mind flitted from property management to her classes - easy, somewhat interesting - to her tutoring sessions - fascinating, even if she was off put by the unctuous Pendragon historian and the annoying ley lines expert, both clearly only in it for the prestige. Happily, she was learning the other side of Pendragon history from the elves, centaurs, and merfolk, and she was certain that as the world was filled with ley lines, the world would also be filled with those who studied them and were less annoying than her current tutor.

“What mastery do you want to pursue?” Hermione eventually asked, breaking the comfortable quiet.

“Promise you will not be offended?” he asked.

“Vitya, please. I just vomited next to you.”

He hugged her tighter for a moment. “Blood magic. Is not considered dark at Durmstrang. I know it is not taught at Hogwarts or Beauxbatons.”

“Your joking,” Hermione said, her eyes wide. Could the Universe be this kind to her?

“You promised not to be mad, Myon.”

She laughed and it was a light, free thing. “I’m not mad! I’ve got a tutor in blood magic. It seems to be the thing the Pendragons used above all else.”

His rumbling laughter shook her back. “See? See how good we will be together? What else do you study?”

She gave him the full list, and the list of things she might want to gain a mastery in. Possibly. And then a thought struck. She sat up and opened her locket, pried up the picture of her father and pulled out the shrunken copy of the instructions she found in the Pendragon vault. She put the locket back together and pulled her wand to end the reduction charm.

Holding the paper in front of her, she looked him in the eye.

“I want to share this with you and get your opinion. But this is secret. You are not to share the information with anyone else without my explicit permission. Can you live with those terms?” She asked, still holding the paper tightly.

“Yes. I will be faithful and loyal to you, Hermione, no matter what.”

She nodded. “Thank you. I’m… I’m fairly certain it’s instructions to some kind of spellwork or magical work and I need to figure it out and  _ do  _ it as soon as possible. I suspect the language that the words are in, and I think I have a good translation of it.”

She handed over the paper and he studied it for a moment.

He nodded silently and she watched his brow crinkle in concentration.

“This is probably musical notation, though I don’t really recognize it. It is not modern music writing, and it’s not how I’m used to chant being written out. But it is a blood magic spell, that I recognize. You have learned already that most complex blood magic must be sung?”

Hermione shook her head, her eyes wide with the new knowledge. “I’m still on the theory of what it does and why it does it differently than charms, transfiguration, or potions. Music hasn’t been mentioned yet.”

“You will get to that eventually. This is clearly a spell. If it is very essential that you perform this ritual soon, you should make a copy without the words and see if you can take your tutor into your confidence. I can also look through my resources to see if anything matches, but I don’t recall this at all. Something to consider - if the spell is in a different language, you will need both a very exact translation and a very poetic translation, and you will need to find your own way between the two. Blood magic must be cast in your own language, your native tongue, and you must believe what you say, feel it deeply, and want it desperately.”

Hermione nodded and looked off past Viktor’s shoulder, past the wall, the green, and into the forest. Was she just going to have  _ learn  _ Old Welsh?

Probably. Eventually. Not this year. Definitely not this year. Well, hopefully not this year.

He handed the paper back to her and she carefully went through the steps to secure it in her locket.

“I vish I knew more, so that I could be the one to help you.”

Hermione tilted her head. “You did know more, and you  _ were  _ the one to help me. And in thanks, I will now take you to lunch. It’s likely time or past time already. I wish I had a decent watch that worked despite the presence of magic.”

She and Viktor gathered up their belongings and she led them through the floo and into the Cottage. “Welcome to my little cottage by the sea. It’s larger than the house I grew up in, and while it does  _ not  _ contain an intact ancient Roman Bath, it does have flush toilets. Speaking of which, if you’d like to refresh yourself, here’s a convenient one. I’ll go use one upstairs and be back in a tick. Feel free to look around when you’re done.”

Hermione left everything but the single rose by the fireplace and nipped up to the suite that was entirely intact for her use only to find… the bed was turned down. In the middle of the day.

Well that was a comment on her love life she hadn’t needed from the Twins.

She sighed and did her business in the bathroom and searched her face in the mirror afterwards. Yes, her eyes were a bit puffy. She brushed her teeth and washed her face and straightened her hair the best she could without rebraiding it.

She trotted down the stairs and did not immediately see… her boyfriend. She shook the thought away and started peeking in various rooms. She went into the kitchen to find a large luncheon basket of the same type as the one she took on the train to Hogwarts. Possibly it was the same basket. There was a large blanket folded neatly beside it on the counter. She took up both and kept looking for Viktor. He was in one of the sitting rooms that had french doors out onto the lawn and then down to the sea. The mysterious case was at his feet.

“I am glad you have a place like this, Myon.” When she reached him he took the basket out of her hands. “We shall eat outside and enjoy the view, then?”

Hermione smiled and nodded silently, then thought again, and set the blanket down. “But first, Viktor, you’ve got to tell me what’s in the case. I’m bursting with curiosity.”

He grinned and crouched down, putting the basket down at their feet. Turning his attention to the case, he rotated it around so the latches faced her. “It’s for you,” he said simply. “Open it if you like.”

_...to be continued. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliffhanger? Well, yes. A bit. But there's more than enough to comment and love on in the above. And don't worry - you'll get the rest tomorrow. :)


	14. Chapter 12, part 2 of 2: Wherein Hermione celebrates her 19th year.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione’s 19th birthday goes stunningly better than her 18th. (The chapter continues and finishes!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Per request, a brief tutorial in pronouncing 'Myon' as Viktor does.
> 
> Myon. 
> 
> Pronounced Me, as in tea, and on, as in on top of. In the normal course of speaking, the emphasis on the first and second syllables are almost exactly the same. When Viktor is emphasizing the name, or drawing it out, the emphasis is on the last syllable. Me-ON. 
> 
> Myon.

_...we continue..._

* * *

She trotted down the stairs and did not immediately see… her boyfriend. She shook the thought away and started peeking in various rooms. She went into the kitchen to find a large luncheon basket of the same type as the one she took on the train to Hogwarts. Possibly it was the same basket. There was a large blanket folded neatly beside it on the counter. She took up both and kept looking for Viktor. He was in one of the sitting rooms that had french doors out onto the lawn and then down to the sea. The mysterious case was at his feet.

“I am glad you have a place like this, Myon.” When she reached him he took the basket out of her hands. “We shall eat outside and enjoy the view, then?”

Hermione smiled and nodded silently, then thought again, and set the blanket down. “But first, Viktor, you’ve got to tell me what’s in the case. I’m bursting with curiosity.”

He grinned and crouched down, putting the basket down at their feet. Turning his attention to the case, he rotated it around so the latches faced her. “It’s for you,” he said simply. “Open it if you like.”

She joined him in a crouch - they might have done this on a table, but there was absolutely no furniture in the room - opened it, and inside were three dozen long-stemmed deep red empassionata roses in a vase with water charmed to not spill out. Well, that explained the odd shape of the case. It was clearly designed with this in mind. Most expensive flowers in the world, indeed.

The scent, when it hit her a moment later, almost dropped her to her knees.

Viktor shifted slightly in his crouch. There he was, in a black suit, collar casually undone, and she just wanted to lick him _all over everywhere._

He reached out a single finger to touch the rose she still carried in her hand, with its little water case around the end. “These can withstand water charms, but not the drying charm, like the concordia. They must be carried by hand. Also, it can be very confusing to have dozens of each in an enclosed space together. It can lead either to very confused behavior, or marathon sex. So I bring them to you in a case which you may close, until you have many rooms to keep them in, though I see now that you do.”

She looked up at him, murmured a thank you and reached out for a kiss. It was going to be a simple kiss, but of course, there were three dozen empassionatas less than two feet from her nose. 

“Perhaps if you leave them in your bedroom at night, and put the concordias in your study, you may have dreams of a different nature,” he mildly suggested against her lips.

And then she tipped him back as she crawled toward and then over him as he lay sprawled but smiling beneath her on the floor next to the picnic basket.

Just kissing. Just embracing. Just… on the floor. As there was simply no furniture in the room, this felt less like a justification to Hermione than it might otherwise.

She trailed the rose in her hand over his nose and his lips and then down his jawline and his neck to his collar, and then she kissed a tiny trail where the rose had been. He groaned as she paused by his collar and the sound shot straight between her legs.

“I did wonder,” she whispered, “why had I hadn’t received any of these flowers yet. I got your package with the magazine yesterday and I was wildly jealous watching that rose trail down your bare chest.”

“Is same rose,” he said, his hand brushing past the one that held the rose in question. “I save it for you. The interviewer, she tried to convince me to give it to her, but I say no. It already has an owner.”

Hermione smirked and pushed up so she could see his face. “That was a hell of a photo shoot, Viktor,” she said, and then she watched him blush.

He grinned, despite the blush. “I tell you ahead of time. I vos shameless.”

She smirked again, then kissed his lips which were soft and sweet under hers. She swallowed his groan and let a shiver race up her spine.

And then her stomach growled. She broke the kiss with a smile that was just so easy to reach for when he was around. “Lunch?”

He nodded and they rose together, quite intentionally leaving three dozen red roses on the floor in the sitting room and bringing only a solitary hand held one with them.

Her hand was tucked in the crock of his elbow again as they went and selected a good spot, midway down the gently sloping lawn. As she flicked the blanket out and guided it to settle on the grass, he watched her.

“Have I mentioned how beautiful you are? Because today you are particularly beautiful.”

“It’s probably the boots,” she said, sitting down on the blanket and patting the space next to her.

He sat down next to her and leaned back on one arm to continue taking her in. He stared at her legs for a long while. “Mm. The boots are inspiring. But it is not the boots.”

She wondered what they exactly inspired for him. She swallowed hard and suggested the sweater.

“Mm,” he said again, and it was halfway between a moan and a groan, but so soft and inspiring in its own right. “It is not the sweater,” he said with an eyebrow slightly raised.

Hermione leaned back on both hands. “Okay, I give up.”

Viktor shook his head slowly. “You are very beautiful woman, and your clothes, they make this plain. But your particular beauty today is not this. It is something, something else. Something I have no word for in English. Something that is inside, something that shines out. Without it, all the boots and sweaters and curves and soft skin in the world mean nothing at all. You have this, today, and it speaks to me.”

Hermione smiled softly. “And what does it say to you, Vitya?”

“Stay.” He leaned closer. “Never leave.” He leaned his forehead against her temple.

The moment was broken again by Hermione’s growling stomach. She grinned. “Shall we eat?”

They both sat up straight. Viktor responded by pulling something out of his pocket and murmuring a finite on them. He held, then, two boxes, one about half the size of the other. Both were wrapped in red paper with gold ribbon. “That depends on when you want your birthday gifts,” he said, laying them on the blanket between them.

Hermione abandoned the hamper. She was torn. After her early morning reticence she’d really enjoyed her presents this year. But...

“Viktor, you came all the way out here, and you brought those beautiful flowers, _and_ you bought me a broom. Surely that’s enough?”

He shook his head sagely. “No. I tell you I come bearing gifts, and so I do.”

“Thank you.” She leaned in and gave him a quick peck on the lips. “So. Which one should I open first?”

“This one,” he pointed to the bottom, larger package, “is because we are friends. This one,” he pointed to the top package, “is because you allow me to court you, and you accept that I love you.”

“I think I’ll start with the friends present first,” she said, still smiling and he smiled in return. 

Hermione shifted things around and pulled the wrapping off the box, then opened the box. It was a Vratsa Vultures uniform. It was _his_ uniform. In _her_ size. She grinned and looked at it front and back, holding it up. Then she realized that on the dark red shirt, there was black hand writing on the back, underneath his name and number. _‘All my love, forever.’_

She looked over at him slyly. “I thought this was the friends gift.”

“If I can’t get you on broom, I think, maybe this is how I tell you.”

She snorted and laughed. “I can’t wait to wear it down to dinner.”

He laughed.

She pushed the wrappings and box away and loosely folded the shirt and laid it over her legs. Then Hermione took up the other box and unwrapped it. When she saw the inner box, she wondered if it was, in fact, jewelry.

It was.

Her eyes rounded as she took in the largest diamond stud earrings she’d ever seen. There was a matching bracelet rounded with only slightly smaller diamonds. The diamonds went all the way around the bracelet.

Hermione was speechless.

When she finally found her voice, what came out was, _“Sweet Baby Jesus, Viktor!”_

Viktor leaned in. “Mm. Yes. They are pure, and bright. I can see the resemblance.”

Hermione instinctively smacked his arm with the back of her hand. “You can’t give me this, Viktor! This is something, something a man would give his _wife!”_

“Mm,” Viktor said, his expression unchanging.

“Viktor,” she said, her voice softening. “I… I don’t even know… I mean, how can I accept this?”

“Easy. You say, “Thank you, Viktor. You are so kind to me,” and then you put them on, and I tell you how your own beauty outshines theirs. This is how it works for my parents, and I think it would be okay for us, too.”

That brought out a laugh in her. She parroted back, with a grin, “Thank you, Viktor. You are _so_ kind to me.” She meant it somewhat humorously, but as she said it, it was full of meaning of her own. He _was_ so kind to her. He really was, and diamonds, though stunning, were only a small part of that. She pulled out the bracelet, opened the clasp and handed it to him, giving him her left wrist. He put it on her, but then held her wrist for a moment before letting it go, and she liked the feel of his hardened fingers and palm. Then she pulled out the ear studs and good Lord, they really were gigantic. She fitted them in the holes in her ears and she could feel their weight. 

Hermione looked up at him and he took up her left hand again and kissed the back of it. 

“They are very beautiful,” he said, searching her face and clearly not looking at the jewels. “And you are moreso.” He leaned in and kissed her once, then twice. “Happy Birthday, my dearest Hermione.”

She smiled and it was just so easy to smile with him. Had she been smiling this whole day so far? Vomiting seemed like yesterday.

“Thank you, Viktor.”

After that, they ate. Tampy and Pampy had made them an absolutely brilliant meal of lobster tails and toasted french bread with butter and garlic, a spinach and strawberry salad, and roasted asparagus. And there was butter for dipping, and more strawberries for dessert. While they ate, Hermione told him the story of her elfin chefs and the ongoing rivalry between them and the horde of Pendragon elves, who Universally Hated Her. Which led to a detailed explanation of S.P.E.W. and Hermione’s fall from grace as Absolutely Perfect In Every Way in Viktor’s eyes.

“Vell, I knew you had to have faults somewhere, Hermione. I’m glad to have found one that resides firmly in your past.”

Hermione grinned. “I know, it’s terrible, isn’t it? Why didn’t anyone just sit me down and _tell me?_ Why are so many things assumed and muggleborn children are just thrown into the deep end of the pool without so much as a swimming lesson, nor floaty bit? I hate that. I’ll change that if I can. There should be books. _What Every Muggleborn Needs To Know_ , and its companion, _So Your Child Is Magical?_ And these are books that come with the Hogwarts Professor when they deliver the letter, and then there should be a follow up two weeks later that covers an all-day orientation and ends with shopping for school supplies in Diagon Alley. Hell, there should be a weekend retreat to provide enough time for all the material, plus questions and answers. My parents got a _pamphlet,_ Viktor. One page, folded twice. It explained how to get into the Wizarding quarter to shop for supplies, how to exchange money, how to get to the magical train station, where to send mail, and when to expect your children home for holiday break. Tell me that is not _totally ridiculous.”_

The conversation continued with what Durmstrang did - refuse entry to muggleborns, what options there were in eastern Europe _for_ muggleborns - a lesser school, not renown, but decent enough.

The conversation continued for a bit and the two had a lovely time chatting about whatever occurred to them in the moment. When the silence reigned after Viktor’s moving description of the mountains to the south and west of Vratsa, Hermione posed a question into the quiet.

“So. Do you want to go for a swim, explore the cottage, go back and explore the castle, take a walk in the woods there, stay here and talk, do something else?”

“Mm,” he said and only that for a moment. Admittedly that sound did what it always did to Hermione; it traveled straight down her spine to her lady bits, turned all the lights on and begged the question when _else_ he might make that sound, or ones like it. She’d had the same response when she was fifteen, only she hadn’t understood it at all.

She understood it perfectly well, now.

“Let’s explore,” he finally said. “I want to know how to picture you in every place you describe to me in your letters.”

Hermione smiled.

First they explored the Cottage. All the sitting rooms were quite empty, as were all the bedroom suites except for hers. The attic was significantly expanded and one portion was clearly quarters for house elves, and the rest was likely her new study. It was entirely empty at this point, but there was a significant balcony overlooking the back lawn, and the sea.

Next they explored the neighborhood. Hermione remembered at the last moment to put a disillusionment spell over her knife and wand sheaths and they chatted for a while about the relative merits of exposed versus covert sheaths. 

It was a quiet little place, this part of Ramsgate, but it seemed that theirs was the only property around that extended to the sea… because there was a bit of a highway. They mused in veiled terms about what sort of magic must be involved at Hermione’s cottage and exchanged pleasantries with Hermione’s new muggle neighbors. They had quite a long and lovely conversation with one of their next door neighbors whose house was a great deal closer than it seemed from inside the garden. Hermione wondered if that was an extension spell or a privacy spell, or both.

It really was fascinating how much specialized magic went into maintaining property while also maintaining the statute of secrecy.

While they were out they nipped into a corner store and Hermione picked up some first class stamps and a copy of The Times. She then proceeded, as they walked, to explain her plan to introduce quality Shakespeare to her nearest and dearest. When her enthusiasm was made perfectly clear, he insisted they find a muggle bookshop so that he could read these plays after all. Considering their options, they decided to go back to Diagon Alley, get some money exchanged at Gringotts (the twenty quid Hermione always kept on her wasn’t going to cut it for a book buying expedition) and so to Charing Cross Road where relatively nearby there was a decent sized Waterstones which would have student paperback copies, filled with notation and explanation.

Viktor, of course, had never been in a muggle bookshop and was fascinated by the different subjects. It was quite refreshing, not to be hurried out, but have to hunt to find your friend who was buried among the stacks.

She was restrained. Sort of. She selected two copies each of Henry IV, Parts 1 and 2, Henry V, Richard III, Much Ado About Nothing, Taming of the Shrew, A Comedy of Errors, Hamlet, King Lear, and after much waffling, MacBeth. One stack was for Viktor, one for her burgeoning lending library.

When she found Viktor, he was in the student revision section, looking at various maths books.

“This is really very interesting, Myon,” he said, looking at a trigonometry text.

“Yes, our educations are sorely lacking in some ways. I’ve taught myself algebra from those sorts of books, and it’s been very helpful,” she said, not mentioning arithmancy in public. “I’ve considered trigonometry just because it’s next in their curriculum, but I’m really more interested in calculus. I think it could be exceptionally useful if I want to go for a mastery.”

“This is all angles, which is very helpful to consider in sport,” he said, gesturing at the book.

“You might like physics, then, though it does require advanced maths. Physics is all about physical power and its application or lack thereof.” Hermione already had the calculus books in her collection, and they didn’t change much year to year, though the practice tests in the back did. She picked up a copy of the review book for algebra, trigonometry, pre-calculus, calculus I, and physics I and put them in her basket Viktor. “Come on,” she said. “I’ve got you your study materials for the next five years. By the time you go for your mastery, you’ll also be a mathematician and a scholar of the Bard. Not a bad way to spend your time, really.”

They grinned and cashed out and when they got back to Diagon Alley they shrunk their purchases and stowed them in pockets before they went back to Wales, via Gringotts.

They had left Hermoine’s new broom, flying equipment, and dozens of red roses at the Cottage, but she would have the Twins fetch them all for her later. 

Her single red rose, she kept firmly in her hand.

They explored the New Palace first. Beyond the columns was a walkway all the way around, and then a fine mist as you went deeper in. Walk through the wall of mist and you enter a room. No walls, no doorways, just mist. They tested it out. You could walk through to the next room, or back the way you came, or deeper, into the courtyard, where there was a covered walkway all the way around, columns, then the central garden. Which was warmer than the outside air in mid-September.

First Hermione marvelled at the furniture, which she didn’t care to do in front of her advisors, Kingsley, or a team of aurors. It was in excellent condition, though Hermione was hesitant to actually _touch_ it. It looked like a museum, really. Except for the walls, there was nothing magical about the place, and beyond the furniture, there was nothing really of value laying about - it probably all went into the vault. 

Of course, it was a perfectly preserved piece of Roman architecture with attendant furniture from approximately 600 AD. _It_ was the thing that was laying around of value.

She definitely needed to write a book.

Her parents would have loved this place. They loved history.

She turned away from Viktor, trying to make it look like she was just looking at something else and blinked away tears, but he caught her sniffing and came to her. He wrapped his arms around her from behind and she tucked her head underneath his chin.

 _Oh._ It felt so… safe? Comfortable? Nice? Like home?

The tears came harder and Hermione yelled at herself inside her head. Why couldn’t she keep it together? Was this place some kind of crying zone?

She pulled his still-useful hanky from her pocket and dabbed at her eyes and blew her nose.

And then she spoke quietly about the targeting of muggles and muggle relations, of obliviation, of Australia, of failure, and of hope.

“I’m glad you told me. You must keep me updated with their progress. And if you do find your master of blood magic to be a trustworthy fellow, you may eventually wish to ask him, if these others do not find a way. The blood always remembers. That is why it is so useful.”

She turned around in his arms and he held her, there in the museum-like New Palace. Hermione apologized for being a watering pot and Viktor just shushed her, like he had before.

“They _vill_ return to you, Hermione. And in time to see their grandchildren born. I promise you this.”

That almost made her laugh through her tears. “Don’t promise, Viktor. Whatever you do, don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“Hermione,” he began again, his voice quite serious. “I would promise you many things. Right now I do promise you this. If your contacts have not solved the problem by the time we marry - well, by the time you marry whomever you choose to marry, though I hope it will be me - I will have nine months to figure it out myself. And I will. And your mother will be there to hold your hand while you give birth to your first child. Hopefully, I will be holding the other hand.”

She held him harder then, squeezing him around his midsection and a fresh round of tears came flooding through, but somehow it was different. She felt lighter. And when she finished crying this time, she felt done. After she blew her nose and wiped her face, she looked up at him.

“You’re making it very easy to love you.”

He grinned a little. “Excellent. This is the point of courtship.” He kissed her forehead.

She grinned back, a little. “Would you take my last name?”

“Which one?”

She snorted and kept grinning. “Pendragon, probably.”

“Or Black Pendragon,” he posited.

“Or Granger Black Pendragon,” she considered.

“Or Granger Krum Black Pendragon,” he said.

“Granger Krum Black Pendragon,” she said.

“Oof,” he replied.

“Too many?” she asked.

“So long as we can just go by Pendragon in the normal course of affairs, there can be as many as you like,” he said easily.

“Yes, probably.”

“It’s a little long,” he admitted, “but I could see it on the back of my jersey.”

“You would change it even for Quidditch?” she asked, impressed.

“You think I wouldn’t?”

“In my experience, men don’t often wish to change their last name to suit their wife,” she said, their embrace much more relaxed, now.

“In my experience, men do not often have the opportunity to marry the Queen of a nation. In such times I believe the expected response is to change name. Is not a problem, Myon.”

“You really don’t mind?” Hermione pressed.

He shook his head. “This is not something that bothers me. But it clearly bothers you.”

Hermione thought about that for a moment. And then she realized that she really needed to stop comparing Viktor to Ron and perhaps start comparing him to her father, instead. While her father _hadn’t_ taken her mother’s name, he would understand completely. He was just like that.

“Thank you,” she said simply.

They continued their exploration then, hand in hand this time, going from room to room. The beds were interesting. They were more like really large reclining couches, and Hermione wondered if they were meant for sleeping the whole night, or brief naps, or perhaps just sex.

And suddenly Hermione was considering that once she took the Seat, whatever it entailed, they would never truly be alone here again, though she doubted the house elves would bother them. Now they _were_ truly alone, and even though she’d barely restrained herself from grinding on Viktor in the morning flying lesson, and then there was the moment she crawled over him and kissed him in the cottage, it seemed wrong somehow, now that they were courting and largely acting like adults again.

Not that adults didn’t get horny. That was one of the joys of adulthood - you could get horny and no one could tell you it was wrong.

“Viktor… I wonder… would you indulge me?” she asked, pulling on his hand to stop his progress.

He raised an eyebrow. “Always.”

“I…” she trailed off and then found her courage. It was never very far away. “I don’t want to do much more than kissing today. I’m very clear about that. And… you know that. But…” she looked around the room for the right words. “I may not be able to see you for a while. And I want my fantasies of you to be, well, perhaps based a bit more in reality. More than just watching you, but you know, interacting.”

He nodded slightly. “I approve.” Then he looked at her very directly, and somehow his gaze seemed to go past her eyes into her soul. He tilted his head ever so slightly. “What do you wish me to do?”

Hermoine glanced significantly at the bed, then back at him. “I’d… like to know… how it feels… for you to lay on top of me,” she said, then bit her bottom lip.

His grin was tiny, and different from any other smile thus far. It was _entrancing._ “And I suppose you would like me to cancel charm?”

Hermione’s brow scrunched. “What charm?”

He shook his head slightly. “No, I do not know the translation for the name. It is charm all gentlemen use to keep secret their desire from the lady they court.”

Hermione’s eyes grew wide. Several things occurred to her all at once.

_Of course wizards would have that._

_Ron neither knew nor cared about that charm, to be sure._

_That explains a certain lack of something during the flying lesson._

_He absolutely had not used that charm at the photo shoot._

Hermione could feel her cheeks burn, but she returned his gaze. “Yes. Do.”

For the first time together in her sight, Viktor pulled his wand out of his sleeve and tapped himself on the head, whispering a word Hermione didn’t catch. When he stowed his wand, he looked back at her and his eyes were different. Dilated. Without realizing it, her breathing went shallow. He pulled her to him and kissed her, hard.

He pulled up, gasping and Hermione was presented with the long expanse of his throat as he tilted his head all the way back.

“Charm also dulls the senses, somewhat. Quite a bit, I now think. Or maybe is just overwhelming in first moment.”

She kissed his throat and breathed him in. He smelled _great._

Viktor groaned.

She kept kissing.

“Eight months now seems very long time, Hermione. Bulgaria is too far away. Far too far.”

She started nibbling, and Viktor started shaking. 

“You could come visit me whenever you could get away,” she said, switching to licking, now.

“Only if you promise to chain me to your bed for entire visit,” he said, his hands drifting lower from her waist, around to her hips. He took her firmly and pulled toward him even as he began slowly walking her backwards, toward the bed.

“Are chains really necessary?” Hermione asked. She raked her fingernails lightly down the sides of his muscled neck and he groaned again. It made her smile.

“They make a point,” Viktor said, gently pushing her down to lay on the bed.

“And what would that point be, Viktor?” she asked, laying back and watching with wide eyes as he slowly crawled up the bed from the bottom.

On his hands and knees over her, he sank down, slowly pressing his thighs outside of hers, his hips to hers, his stomach to hers, and then more lightly their chests together until he finally rested on his elbows.

She panted, _amazed._ She leaned up and kissed him. Her arms drew around his shoulders and she realized she wanted to wrap her legs around him as well, but she couldn’t. His were around hers.

He kissed her softly then rose up slightly.

“I love you, Hermione. I dream of you. For years at night you come to me, and in day I imagine. I imagine that you want my kisses, my love.”

“I think…” she shifted an arm in order to cradle the side of his face with her hand. “I think I do,” she admitted quietly.

He groaned and buried his face in her neck and started kissing and nuzzling.

Hermione whined and writhed but not very effectively. She was deliciously trapped beneath his weight, which is what she wanted to experience. Except for the legs.

“Viktor, could we shift so my legs are on the outside?”

He groaned loudly from the region of her neck and his hips bucked into hers.

“No,” he said firmly. Which was confusing.

“Why not?”

He threw his head back and gasped. And said something in Bulgarian. And blushed. After several gulps of air, he spoke, still looking up toward, _oh my, a frescoed ceiling of frolicking nymphs. And they seemed to be having quite an orgasmic time up there. So this was a room of assignation, then, was it? Ah, antiquity._

“Because right now I am very close to embarrassing myself.”

“Well,” Hermione said, thinking about what her boundaries really were, embarrassment aside. “I… well, I agree that this is possibly a bit beyond kissing and embracing, though perhaps not in a very expansive and permissive definition of the terms. And, well, you know I find you attractive, and today you’re a devastation to the senses. I think I might be falling in love with you, and I’m certainly considering marrying you and bearing your children. I’m convinced that our clothes should and will stay on today in their entirety, and I’d like to discuss the possibility at some future time about what blood magic we might wish to perform on our wedding night. So there would be, of course, none of that sort of sex until then. But if you’re imagining that we won’t share any orgasms until that time, I’m just not sure I’m really on board with that, Viktor.” 

He said something in Bulgarian, still panting on top of her looking up. Finally he met her eyes. “Yes. Yes. If you give me orgasm, will you let me give you one?”

“You can try,” she said with a grin.

Viktor panted as he held her eyes, and oh, _damn,_ she found herself praying to God that one day she would get to fuck him, repeatedly, daily, for the rest of her life. And then she could feel his weight shifting, first one knee then another moving her thighs apart.

Hermione also found her breath quite hard to catch as she slid her calves up his legs and then around his waist, hooking her booted ankles together behind his back, and incidentally, pulling him in as close as her tight jeans would allow. Which was less close than she would have liked, though it was apparently working for him.

He shouted something and quickly rearranged his arms so that his hands snaked behind and around the top of her shoulders and he thrust into her - well, into the tight-as-a-drum barrier of her jeans. Three times he thrust, and then he groaned, _“fuck, Myon,”_ into her neck, his body shaking. He hung between his arms then, even more of his weight pressing down on her than before. She could still breath, though. Just.

And that was pretty fast, actually. Hermione was suddenly reminded of her conversation about Ginny and Harry’s wedding night. Well, they had eight months to work on his stamina. Sort of.

After a long moment she could hear his wandless evanesco and then he rolled off of her and rearranged them so they lay on their sides, with him spooned up behind her.

“This. I have imagined holding you like this, bringing you pleasure. Also like this on broom. Mostly on broom, really.”

“I… don’t think, I mean, I’m not really _sure_ I’ll ever be able to have sex on a broom, Viktor.”

“Don’t crush all my hopes, Hermione.”

“Well, you can be very persuasive. I’ll try to keep an open mind.”

She laid her head on his arm, again, and his other came around, fingertips teasing her neck. He slowly worked her over, always on top of her clothes. Her neck, her arm, her wrist, her fingers, her chest, her rib cage (back to her chest), her belly, her hips, and finally right over her mons. At which she spoke. Well, panted.

“Right, so unfortunately you’re not going to get very far today, Viktor, because these jeans are, well, jeans. They’re thick and I can’t feel anything with your hand where it is.”

Suddenly he pressed very hard, below the zipper.

She gasped. “Okay, felt that.”

He kept rubbing and she whined and keened and writhed her way into an orgasm.

After she came back to reality, Hermione asked, “So. How did that stack up against the fantasy?”

“Mm. Very good. Fantasy usually has less clothes, though.”

She smiled. “Any other differences?”

“Mm.”

“I love that, by the way.”

“Mm?”

“Yes, that.”

“Mm.” Then later he added, “I think I vill not talk about fantasies right now.”

“Why?” she asked, turning in his arms.

He propped his head on his hand and looked down at her. “If I tell you all my fantasies right now, Myon, there is small chance to make some very bad decisions and stay here for next week, and then elope. Would make both our lives very difficult.”

“Huh. You have a point. Though I think I _will_ reread choice bits of your letters tonight. And I suppose there’s always the magazine.”

“Mm,” he said, his eyes dark and smouldering.

“We should probably get up, shouldn’t we?”

“Mm.”

“I wonder if there’s a charm on this room.”

“Mm?”

She pointed up and when it registered what he was looking at, the groan was louder and more obviously a groan.

She took his hand and pulled him in the direction of the courtyard. There was a shivery feeling as they went through the mist and she met his eye with a curious gaze. He pulled out his wand and tapped the top of his head, murmuring a charm. 

“I should probably check the ceilings of the other bedrooms. Just in case.”

“If you don’t come out in thirty seconds, I’m coming in to get you.”

Hermione grinned and popped in and out of the rest of the bedrooms. There was one more ‘frolicking nymph’ room across the courtyard, but the others had people playing lyres and snoozing. And in the nymph room she did definitely feel a surge, and in the others she just felt a bit tired.

So. There were rooms that encouraged orgies. And if there was a vomitorium somewhere in here it would be just like the documentaries.

They walked through the Bath rooms. Everything was dry - there was no water running through, though apparently there could be. They walked through the communal toilet fairly quickly, then a cold bath with what looked like a mid-size, empty, stone swimming pool, then a hot bath which looked exactly like the cold bath room, then a steam room. There were benches everywhere.

“This, this would be decadent,” Viktor admitted, and Hermione considered that the entire New Palace was a _hymn_ to decadence.

Hermione cast a quick spell to tell the exact time. There was just over an hour until dinner. She told Viktor this and asked if he wanted to explore the Curtain with her.

“Standing stones first, while there is still light,” he said, stating his preference.

Hermione led the way and when she faced the double door of the Curtain, she pulled on the right iron ring and then stepped through the doorway holding Viktor’s hand. They walked into a small courtyard, no more than thirty feet wide that held eight standing stones. Three were very tall, four were very small, and one… 

Well, one looked the right height to be a seat. Or perhaps, a Seat.

“So. Everything protects the stones, then,” Viktor said, looking at them critically. “They must be very important.”

Ron had noticed that too, as had the head auror. She nodded her head and shared her theories and they stood talking for a while. When they headed inside she asked where he would like to start. Most of the rooms she had looked at were empty save large pieces of furniture. Just like the New Palace, any thing that could be stored in the vault probably was, just as Maria had said in her letter.

Viktor took a moment and looked into her eyes before he responded. “I would like to see the bedroom you have claimed. I would like to know how to imagine you, when you are here.”

Hermione privately thought that she wasn’t likely to spend many nights here until she graduated and if this visit was anything to go by, he would likely spend her first nights with her in that room. But still, it wasn’t a hair she wanted to split.

“Come help me choose the best room,” she said, instead.

Each of the really large suites had a large room with a bed, and connected to it a medium sized room with some chairs or settees and a smaller room with wardrobes and a bath area. The tubs were large compared to muggle bathtubs perhaps, but really only one person could fit comfortably, at least if that one person was the size of Viktor. And quite suddenly that was certainly part of Hermione’s calculations. But there were also what seemed like washstands and what might pass for a toilet if running water wasn’t a requirement.

There were three elves dedicated to the middens and Hermione hadn’t talked to any of them yet. Not a conversation she was looking forward to, actually.

Once they had considered the four largest suites, it was down to views and colors. Hermione liked the blue and green suites the best and Viktor pointed out that the green suite looked out onto the back enclosure wall, while the blue suite looked out just over the top of the New Palace and out and down to the lawn.

The blue suite it was.

They continued exploring, just to see if they could count the number of bedrooms, large and small. On the first floor there seemed to be ten, four large suites and six smaller suites. On the second floor there seemed to be ten smaller suites, and possibly a nursery. On the third and top floor there seemed to be one gigantic room that was the entire floor, save the stairway and the small hall that led to the door. It circled all the way around the stones, and the inner wall was lined with empty bookshelves and pigeon hole type things. The opposite wall was empty stone except where there were windows open to the air, with wooden shutters that folded out from the inside. In two seperate areas there were several large tables and a few stools. In two areas there was clearly a desk, but no chair. And then the other areas were empty.

Well. Hermione definitely had a place to put her books, now.

They went back down to explore the ground floor. The kitchen and elf quarters were in the basement, but Hermione wasn’t entirely sure there was a _stairway_ to the basement. If there was, it was well hidden from her. The ground floor had the Great Room which was also the entrance hall and apparently served when feasts occurred and weren’t hosted in the New Palace. There was also a small dining room, six sitting rooms, what might be two work rooms or studies with smallish, empty bookshelves and another room that was simply entirely empty. No idea what it might be used for.

When they cycled back around to the great room, Viktor broke the silence they had maintained as they looked around.

“This is the sort of place that needs dogs. At least two. Very large. Laying in front of that fireplace, there.”

“Wolfhounds, or some such, you mean?”

“Yes. Some gigantic thing whose grandfathers were used to hunt bears. Do you like dogs, Myon?” Viktor asked as they walked hand in hand back to the New Palace courtyard for dinner. It was getting dark out as they went, but it was still light enough to see.

Hermione shrugged. “I’ve never really had a dog. Or dogs. I have a cat now, half-kneazle, and an owl whom you met. And I’ve met my share of werewolves, though I quite like one of the ones I knew. But not when I was around when he was transformed. And I knew someone who was a dog animagus, but that’s not a real dog, and he only barely passed as a dog in behavior, I think. So, yeah. No dogs. What about you?”

They walked through the Roman Bath, right past the cold bath room and back out through the mist into the much warmer and florally fragrant courtyard. They walked toward the odd low benches, well, they seemed like benches. Apparently they were Roman banquet tables. Some pillows had been put to one side of them, candles were on the stone table, and they were to dine reclining.

It looked somewhat uncomfortable.

Viktor had been in the middle of describing the dogs he’d had, but he stopped mid-sentence upon seeing the table.

“How very Asian,” he remarked. He straightened a pillow in an incremental way and offered her the seat.

Dinner was laid out on their plates with extras in bowls, and all under warming charms.

Steak. Broccoli. Salad. Mashed potato. Cheese cake. Fruit. Two tall carafes of water.

They ate quietly and talked about the plants and trees around them, about how Hermione might quite like living with dogs but wasn’t sure about their care and maintenance. Their talk shifted to property maintenance and Viktor seemed to know a great deal about it. When Hermione asked, she almost wished she hadn’t.

“I grew up being prepared to take over my father’s position as the head of our house and all of the responsibilities.”

Hermione put down her fork, but stared at a grapefruit tree. “And what would happen if you married me and moved away?”

“I would help you with yours, instead. And grow you a rose garden,” he said simply, and continued to eat.

“Viktor, I can’t just rip you away from your family.”

“No, you make my cousin Gregor very happy. If I marry you, my father name him heir. He is suitable and would be very good at it.”

“But what about your parents?”

“I already warn you. They come for very long visits. Probably in winter. Winter in Bulgaria is not always so kind. They will find Wales or Ramsgate much kinder, I think.”

“Are you sure you’re really thought this through?”

“It is you who have been overwhelmed by this. Not me. This I was prepared to do when you were just Miss Granger, if you had not wished to live in Bulgaria. And we would have had nice little cottage in middle-of-no-where England that I had bought for you out of saving my Quidditch salary, and we would have both had masteries in many things and lived very interesting but quiet lives with too many books and probably many roses. And Gregor still would have inherited. My parents have had four years to adjust their way of thinking. You are no longer just Miss Granger, but if my luck holds, Gregor will still inherit.”

“You really have thought all of this through,” Hermione said, stunned to be in the presence of someone who actually _thought_ before he acted. Someone roughly in her age cohort, no less.

“Of course,” he said. “And do not let Gregor ruin your dinner. He would be saddened if it got cold before you could eat it. He is a kind man. He does not wish this for you.”

Hermione laughed despite herself and reapplied herself to her food. It was excellent. Of course.

They talked about different cuisines and what was whose favorite, and Hermione wondered if there were favorite things he loved to eat, and if Tampy and Pampy could learn to make them.

Viktor suggested that the first trip she made to Bulgaria, or the first trip his parents came here, the elves should come as well, and so teach and learn the different cooking techniques.

She’d never thought of traveling with house elves, but she supposed it made sense. Really, Hermione was coming to appreciate house elves more and more each day. The Pendragon ones may have hated her, but Tampy and Pampy were wonderful beings and she wanted to know more about them. She earmarked the idea of having future conversations with them just to know them better. Not just their culture, or their lore, but _them._

They finished dinner, extinguished the candles, and rearranged the pillows in a different part of the garden. They lay down on a patch of grass between fragrant shrubs and citrus blooming sweetly and stared at the stars, and the long bright stretch of the Milky Way. They spoke of stars, of divination, of Centaurs and the fascinating power balance Hermione wondered at between magical people, elves, merfolk, and the Centaurs. They speculated about what might have happened so long ago that allowed the Pendragons to be trusted when so many others weren’t, and still aren’t. When Viktor proposed a blood magic ritual, though which he didn’t specify, Hermione agreed that it was likely, as it seemed to be the Pendragon answer to most questions.

“There’s a muggle saying my father used to love. If you have a hammer, everything looks like a nail. And I suppose to a master potioneer, every good solution involves a potion. Likewise to a master arithmancer, it’s always in the numbers. For the Centaurs, the answer is always in the stars. And perhaps the Pendragons have always had a fondness, or an excellence with blood magic, and so it was their hammer.”

“And what is your hammer, Hermione?” Viktor asked.

She thought about that in silence for a long while, picturing all the painful conversations over the last month, both written and spoken.

“I suppose, though this may not quite answer the question, I’ve been quite used to being the one with the answers. Harry may have won this war on behalf of all of us, but I was the one who kept him alive and going in the right direction. And it means that… Well, I have a hard time relying on other people. And when I have in the past, I mean, during the war, you know, relied on someone, really trusted them, well, they let me down. Even some of the people I trusted most. And I’ve had to ask people for help, recently. Sometimes it wasn’t so bad. And sometimes it was terrifying. And I realized that when you… when you were talking about Gregor and your father naming someone else his heir, I just assumed that you wouldn’t have thought that through as much as I had and that’s just so awful of me. I mean, why would I assume that? Why would I imagine that an intelligent, thoughtful person such as yourself who was ready to commit to this rather significant thing hadn’t thought through all the ramifications?”

“Perhaps because you are used to people who act first and think later?” Viktor asked quietly into the dark of the night.

Hermione was silent.

“It is not a crime to be impulsive,” Viktor spoke again, his voice soft and low. “It is not evil. And sometimes the best thought out actions still have painful consequences, and sometimes unintended consequences. We both know this. But I think you have not had so many peers who value thoughtful action and considered words.”

She nodded in the dark. “Historically, I’d say that’s accurate. I’ve started cultivating closer friends in other people, people I specifically admire, and you know, they both are people of thoughtful action and considered words.”

“I would like to meet these new friends. I think I would like them very much.”

“I’d like to introduce them to you. Of course Harry is still my best friend, and Ginny, his wife, is turning out to be a really wonderful friend too, but they don’t tone down the impulsivity quotient. But I have really turned down the volume on my friendship with Ron. Actually, I think that’s quite mutual, and that’s just fine. We tried to date, you know-”

“Mm?” Viktor’s interrogatory grunt sounded distinctly outraged.

“Well, it didn’t work,” Hermione defended quickly. “For a variety of reasons. And really we had about a week of dating that wasn’t really worth the effort involved, and then three months of being apart and thinking about whether we wanted to date, and then we both decided that we didn’t. Now we’re friends, but not very close ones. I value his strategic mind and he’s agreed to help a bit as one of my advisors, but I fully expect him to bow out more or less graciously as soon as he finds what he really does want to do in this world, and when that time comes, I will thank him and we’ll both just move on.”

“Not trying to be jealous, but it would be okay with me if he moved on sooner.”

Hermione sighed. “I do understand. If you had dated someone for a week and I had to hear about how much contact you still had with her, I’d feel the same. No, I’d probably be more irrationally rageful and patently obvious in my jealousy.”

“Don’t worry. I am calm on outside. I am irrationally rageful on inside.”

Hermione laughed and reached out to hold his hand. “Well, that makes me feel better about my potential response, then. Harry is with us on this, by the way. Ron had really been Harry’s best friend, I think, not me, until about the middle of last year. And Ginny is Ron’s little sister. I mean, there are so many connections, so many reasons to still stay friends. But things happened in the war, you know? And we got to see a side of each other that we might never have seen otherwise. For Harry and me, it cemented our friendship. And for Ron and us, the foundation crumbled. And I think I had been _wondering_ if I was in love with him for so long that when he finally expressed affection, I took it. And then discovered that I wasn’t in love with him, because I couldn’t actually stand him. And that, you know, really shook the foundations of what I thought love was to begin with. Which is maybe why I want very much to rush things with you because it feels _so damn right and in every way it didn’t with Ron_ , and yet I am hesitant to name what I’m feeling as love. Because I’m not sure I know what it is, Viktor. I love being with you, and talking with you, your letters, your presence in them has brought me such comfort, and you’re so damn attractive I can’t think straight sometimes, but is that love? And will that last for the next hundred thirty years?”

“For me, I say it this way,” Viktor began. “When I see you at first, I have irresistible urge to be with you, even though everything tells me no. My bad English tells me no. My biased headmaster tells me no. My annoying groupies annoying you tells me no. Sometimes you glare at me, and it tells me no. You don’t like my sport, it tells me no. But I can’t help myself. I still want to be with you. And everything is better when I am with you. And over the last years without you I have tried to see if I can find someone else who is like that for me. But there is only one North Star. And so I write, and I hope. I know you will not marry before you leave school, so I know I have a little time. And I knew there was war, and that you were in the center of it. So I pray to St. Cyril every day for you to survive. And when you write back after war, and you are still alive, still unmarried, and going back to school for your final year, I think, I have one more year to try. And just lately our letters have been so sexy I’m surprised the paper doesn’t catch on fire. And I come here, and I find it is not the same as it was before. It is more. You are not a beautiful girl with great potential anymore, you are a beautiful, powerful woman. Where everything told me no before, now entire Universe sings to me, yes, yes, be with her now. And now my time grows short with my North Star, and my heart breaks to think of leaving.”

Hermione was crying again, but this time they felt like good tears. And there were only a few of them. Still, he heard her sniffling and rolled over on his side and wiped them away with his thumb, and the backs of his fingers.

“That was so beautiful, Viktor. Thank you for telling me that. I like… I like the difference between your reality and my fears. I’m worried about intellectually knowing the difference between love and infatuation and if passion can last more than century, and you’re… you’re just so clear on what you need to be happy. I think, oh, this is terrible. I think I had forgotten what it was like to be with you, this connection that we’ve always shared even when you didn’t have the command of English that you do now, even when it was just letters. And I… last year it was just too dangerous, and I was so focused on finishing the mission and not dying early. And when I did think of you, or read your letters, the horcrux, it just twisted everything. I didn’t realize that, really, until just now. It had me convinced that you never really loved me, that I was just a passing interest and an amusing pen pal and you’d probably stop writing to me entirely after a year of nothing. And yet, I knew. I knew you were my friend. I knew that I could always count on you to be utterly honest with me. In that way, you’ve always been my best and most staunch friend. And the horcrux just twisted all of that, and even the sort of man I knew you to be. I knew you thought deeply, that you were wonderfully intelligent and talented, that you were a powerful wizard, and that all of that stood independent of whether or not you could fly dangerously and catch shiny, elusive things.”

He laughed, but it was rueful and short. “I prefer to think of it this way: I know what I need to have, I seek it out, and when I find it, I am determined to be first to take it before it is snatched away by others. This is true in both life and quidditch.”

“You know, you _are_ the first man to wax poetic about quidditch that hasn’t made me want to vomit.”

“See? We were made for each other,” he joked, but again, there was a sadness in his tone.

“Viktor,” Hermione said, reaching up to touch his face. “I am very much looking forward to the next eight months of our courtship. And I will tell you the moment that I realize you are my North Star.” _Because I think you might be._

_And it all comes down to figuring out what I want. In the past I’ve wanted real friends. I’ve wanted perfect grades. I’ve wanted to be loved. I’ve wanted to win the war. I’ve wanted Harry to survive. And I’ve gotten all these things. So what do I want now?_

* * *

Hermione came back to Hogwarts directly from the Leicester Portkey Station to the Pendragon Suite. She called to Tampy and Pampy and had them go fetch the pile of gifts she had left at Black Cottage, and a tray of hot cocoa.

Viktor had given her a letter just before he left, as she also had done for him. She was looking forward to reading it in the bath.

“Yes, Miss, right away Miss,” said Tampy who was now sporting a tie-dyed pillowcase. Pampy, who had just left, was in a light blue one. “Does Miss know that friends are waiting for her in the sitting room?”

“Oh.” Hermione sighed a little. “Right. Well, maybe cocoa for all of us?”

“Yes, Miss.” And then they were gone.

Hermione stepped through the door to the common room, only to find Luna, Neville, Harry and Ginny all there. And taking up all available seating. Hermione flopped down on the floor in front of the fire, then lay back and cast her arm over her face.

“How’d it go?” Ginny asked for everyone.

“We were dying to know, but clearly you had an amazing time. Did he ask you to marry him?” Luna asked.

“Who are you?” Hermione tiredly demanded. “Sherlock Bloody Holmes?”

“Oh, Merlin. _Are_ you engaged, Hermione?” Ginny asked.

“Bracelet, earrings, no ring. Not yet,” Luna answered for her. “But I bet he came prepared.”

“What she said,” Hermione agreed, vaguely pointing at Luna with her free hand.

“Do we get to have details, or should I just ask Luna how your day long date went?” Ginny asked, then added, “Ooh, cocoa!”

Still speaking from under the arm flung over her face, Hermione answered. “He’s a poet, a scholar, an athlete, he’s the most devastatingly attractive man I’ve ever met, and he considers me his North Star. We are officially courting. And I still don’t know what I want long-term, and I’m not sure I know what love is. He would, however, be willing to give up his inheritance, move to Britain, take my name, and help me with my work.”

“Wow,” Neville said. “That was fast.”

“To me, yes sort of, though the letters in the last month have been a hell of a hint,” Hermione agreed. “For him, he’s been quietly planning in the background for the last four years, apparently.”

“So you think this isn’t about your recent elevation, or anything?” Neville asked carefully.

“No, of course not,” Luna answered for Hermione. “He really loves her. He always has. Hasn’t he, Hermione?”

“Yup,” Hermione said bitterly. “And doesn’t that just make me feel like an unaware, insensitive nitwit.”

“Nah, you’re being too hard on yourself, Hermione,” Neville said.

“I agree with Neville,” Luna chimed in. “And I do think you know what love is, Hermione. But it’s possible you’re scared. But that’s okay. Your house is known for its ability to act despite the fear. That’s why you’re not in Ravenclaw, I think, even if you’re a lot brighter than many of my housemates. As intelligent as you are, you are even more courageous. I’m glad you’re my Queen. I wouldn’t want anyone less than you in the role.”

“Here, here!” Harry said.

“Absolutely,” Ginny agreed.

“Definitely,” Neville said.

“You guys are awesome,” Hermione said finally, sitting up and reaching out for the cocoa someone poured out for her.

“Those diamonds are really large, Hermione,” Harry stated matter-of-factly.

“Not wrong,” she replied. “He also gave me a signed jersey which I will happily wear to dinner tomorrow, and three dozen and one of his family’s _other_ roses, the truly expensive ones. And a broom. And a flying lesson. And I did not entirely suck at it, either.”

“What model broom?” Ginny prompted.

Hermione told them and watched Ginny and Harry’s eyes bug out.

“Yes, I know. We argued. He won. Yes, you may borrow it. It can live in the common room until my next lesson.”

“And when will that be?” Luna asked.

Hermione shrugged. “Depends. His day off is Sunday, but the portkey is bound to be expensive, and I really don’t have time to spend all day Sunday with him without doing some work. At least, not too often. We didn’t discuss that. Well, he did say he might switch teams to one in Britain, soon.”

“Spill!” Ginny demanded, but possibly for the benefit of the group, as she and Harry really already knew.

“Well, his last planned interview a few weeks ago. It just came out. He mentioned wanting to make a move in that interview. And also, well, there’ll probably be a picture of us in the Prophet tomorrow morning. Tuesday at the latest. We were having a coffee in Diagon Alley, and it was rather a tender moment. He’s certain he’ll have some decent offers from local teams by the end of next week, and I’m fairly certain he’s going to take one of them. He’s quite serious about all of this.”

“Well, the Daily Prophet is good for that, at least,” Luna said with a smile.

* * *

_September 19, 199_  
_ _Hogwarts Castle_

_Dear Narcissa,_

_Thank you so much for the beautiful dress! It is exquisite, and I think you know that. I appreciate your remembering me on my birthday, and it made the loss of my parents a little easier to bear. Thank you._

_I feel I should warn you that the news may break tomorrow. Viktor Krum and I are courting. I quite believe that he’s loved me for some time, and I’m trying to determine if I can reciprocate the depth of his affection. A photographer took a picture of us this morning in Diagon Alley, so tomorrow morning or the next, everyone will know._

_I will say that while I’m not sure if I am in love with him, there are so many things that I do love about him, and when he’s not around, no matter how busy I get, I miss him._

_Fair warning,  
_ _Hermione_

* * *

_September 19, 199_  
_ _Hogwarts Castle_

_Dear Kinglsey,_

_Thank you so much for your thoughtful and timely gift. I will use it responsibly, well, and with great care and gratitude for your generosity._

_Thank you,  
_ _Hermione_

* * *

_September 19, 199_  
_ _Hogwarts Castle_

_Dear Augusta,_

_Thank you so much for the birthday gift. The leather is beautiful and I believe I shall put the knife to good use with our dinner with Gelwyn on the 24th. Thank you so much for remembering me on my birthday. I appreciate it deeply._

_Thank you,  
_ _Hermione_

* * *

_September 19, 199_  
_ _Hogwarts Castle_

_Dear Mrs. Weasley,_

_Thank you so much for the beautiful and wonderfully tasty cake. I shared it during breakfast and everyone admired the taste combination of chocolate cake and breakfast bacon. I appreciate you remembering me on my birthday, and it made the absence of my parents easier to bear._

_Thank you,  
_ _Hermione_

* * *

_September 19, 199_  
_ _Pendragon Suite_

_Minerva,_

_Thank you! I promise to be responsible. But don’t be surprised if you hear from my elves often. I intend to take at the very least a very deep breath of sea air once a day, for the purposes of regaining my sanity. I hope you won’t mind._

_Much love,  
_ _Hermione_

* * *

_September 19, 199_  
_ _Pendragon Suite_

_Neville,_

_Thank you for the lovely holster! It’s absolutely beautiful and I’ve really enjoyed wearing it around today. Thank you for remembering me on my birthday._

_With thanks,  
_ _Hermione_

* * *

_September 19, 199_  
_ _Pendragon Suite_

_Harry & Ginny, _

_Thank you for the stunningly beautiful birthday present. I’d wear them to class if I could. It’s possible I’ll wear them everywhere else. I’m trying to figure out how I can justify wearing them to my coronation. Let me know if you think of anything  
_

_Love,  
_ _Hermione_

* * *

_September 19, 199_  
_ _Hogwarts Castle_

_My dearest Viktor,_

_Thank you for visiting me. Thank you for all of the gifts you have showered me with, not least of which your declaration of love._

_You said that you might switch teams, and that your recent interview and our picture in the paper might inspire more offers to come your way, and I want to say you shouldn’t do that. And I’ve said so in the past. Because it would be terribly selfish of me to want you to move closer to me, and farther away from your family and friends. But you clearly want it, so I am allowing myself to be selfish and so I am allowing myself to say this: Join me quickly and do not delay._

_Yours,  
_ _Hermione_

_PS - No, this is not your actual letter. This is just a thank you for all you’ve offered me today. Your real letter, and I suppose something of a different sort of thank you was handed to you in Leicester Portkey Station. I hope you’ve enjoyed it. Now that I’ve had the post-game recap with my friends over hot cocoa, written out all my thank you notes for all the various gifts I’ve been given today (yours was last) I will finally take my single red rose of seduction and that French magazine, and your letter to my steaming hot bath. The concordias, by the way, are on my desk in my study, with the single concordia by my bedside for emergencies. And the three dozen empassionatas are on my dressing table. (Dear God, they’re potent! I mean, you say none of the roses are addictive, and I know for a fact it hasn’t manufactured desire where there was none because I was panting in lust after you before they showed up. And now I feel like if I don’t come hard (do you know this colloquialism for orgasm? What sort of language books do you have, I wonder? So curious.) anyway, with them in the room I feel like if I don’t come hard I will have lost something so beautiful in my life and I’ll never get it back again. I’m glad they come with a case. Then again, this could also be attributed to spending twelve hours in your presence and orgasming only once. Still. It was the first orgasm you’ve given me yourself, directly and personally.) You’ve utterly spoiled me today, Viktor. Thank you for making my birthday absolutely perfect._

* * *

_September 18, 199_  
_ _The Rosary  
_ _Vratsa, Bulgaria_

_My sweetest Hermione,_

_Tomorrow I will be with you, and this evening I have received a letter. I am spoiled for your affection and attention, and so even though I see you tomorrow, I shall diligently write tonight and instead of the letter taking two days to get to you, it will only take one._

_I am very happy that you have slept well, deeply, and warmly and have achieved all of this entirely naked. What on earth was on your bed before that could not keep you sufficiently warm in Scotland’s fall?_

_I hope by the time you read this I will know all those little things you have wanted to tell me in person. Why_ _Henry V_ _deserves to be reread right now, why Gelwyn took the opportunity to apologize to you before her entire assembled Love, whether or not you are Britain’s hereditary magical queen and if this will involve a coup of the current muggle monarch, which my father has feared. (I tell him, of course, that you would not want war, not again, not on your own behalf, and that you are quite favorably disposed to muggles in general, and he wants to trust me, but he does not know what sort of advisors you have surrounded yourself with, and as you had refused to mention anything in letters, his worst fears have been running rampant these past weeks.) Regardless, I have consulted one of my books on English history and have read briefly about King Henry V. Hermione, please do not invade France. It is not worth it. We will visit in the postseason and that will be nice enough, perhaps._

_I hope, too, that I have had the courage to tell you how very much I love you, Hermione, for I do. And if perchance I have not said it, it is just as well that I do so now. Because sometimes I imagine it is better to wait until we are face to face and I can gauge your interest and emotions, and other times I think that I have not half the courage that you do, and when it comes time the words may simply not come out of my mouth despite any effort of willpower on my part. So this is my failsafe._

_If you can never imagine returning my love, then perhaps it would be better to stop reading soon and write me a beautifully courageous and direct letter to that effect. Because I will continue this letter hoping that if you are not certain of the completeness of your affections, which it seems perhaps from your letters might be the case, then you could at least imagine a day in which you might be certain, and you might be certain you would wish to spend your life with me. Or perhaps you are already certain by the time we have met tomorrow, by the time you read this letter in the evening. But no, I will not assume such a thing, not because it is too much to hope for, not after all the years I have loved you, because I do hope for exactly that. But because I do not wish to assume so much and begin to rejoice already in something that may not have happened. Yet. So I will take the middle ground, largely because it is far too depressing to presume failure on my part when I have not yet failed._

_I am interested in this playwright whom all English speaking muggles revere. The idea of an older form of the language is only a little daunting, but most because I tend to pick up idioms and phrases from what I read and incorporate that into my speech, which could be difficult if I start speaking like Shakespeare wrote and am intelligible perhaps only to you. I trust you will keep me from this terrible fate, unless you prefer to treat it as our private language, which is a somewhat attractive thought, I will admit._

_And now, have a bit of rose lore. According to legend, the everblooming Concordia, which was the first of the variety, was a hybrid of a white floribunda and a second century Christian witch who transformed herself permanently into a white rose bush in order to find peace and respite from religious persecution. She hid herself in an established rose garden of one of her sympathetic wizarding friends and hoped that she would be able to escape persecution without having to renounce her faith, and by so doing, provide a calmer, more peaceful witness than death by Roman amusements usually led to. A different sort of martyrdom. The legend goes on and gets far more spectacular after this rather reasonable beginning, and several miracles of peace, reasonableness, healing, and diplomacy have followed. Saint Concordia was the first magical Christian martyr that the church records. She is the patron saint of roses (obviously), refugees, and peace negotiations. She had lived in Rome, but fled to friends in Bulgaria, but of course the reach of the Roman Empire at that time was quite extensive. (Some versions of the story say she lived in Corinth, others Ephesus, but our family chooses to consider Rome as the most likely place.) The friend she fled to was, of course, an extremely distant ancestor of ours and so while the Concordia could be said to be ours, we prefer to consider that we are the caretakers of it. That was when our family converted to Christianity, after bearing witness not only to Saint Concordia’s martyrdom, but also the peace that passes all understanding that her faith and belief has brought to countless people, including us. Though of course I was born on the day of Sts. Cyril and Methodius and so was named that way, Saint Concordia is our family’s patron saint, as well. And now you know_ _why_ _the Concordia is one of Bulgaria’s national treasurers and illegal for export. It is not so much that the government imposes such things on the family. It is that the family imposes such things on the government out of respect._

_Tell me about electromagnetism and how it is used as a source of power, and how it is created by other devices._

_Thank you for the grammatical advice. I can see now that there could be many, many instances in which I would make love to you, and perhaps you to me (if I may be so bold as to presume you would wish to do this, which I tentatively am), and even more instances in which we would make love with each other. (And then, perhaps, those other times when it would all devolve into a good hard fuck? Or even start that way? One can hope, and this one does.)_

_You are welcome for the picture, and I will pass on your gratitude to Mikhail before I leave tomorrow. You know, you often make me smile, you just never get to see it. Mama says I have walked around in a haze of love these last few weeks and she hopes very much, well. No. I won’t say that after all, I think. She wants what is best for us. I will leave it at that._

_If I have not already made it so very clear by now, when you read this, I will do so now: Hermione, I adore you. I love you. I wish to marry you. I wish to spend the rest of my life with you. And I wish to fill our days with love and cherished moments and wonderful conversation and the sharing of magic and ideas and books, and yes, a great deal of sex. And until such time as we might be married, I have no desire to engage in anything, anything my sweet Myon, that you do not wish to also engage in. Are my veins on fire with lust for you? Yes, of course. I do not see how they could not be. But this can be pushed aside. Would I wish to refrain entirely from any intimacy at all for any reason? No, this would not be my first choice, Myon. I would do it, if that’s what you needed to feel safe, to feel loved and respected. Instantly I would do it. Because I love you, and I respect you and I wish to communicate this to you in ways that make instinctive sense to you. But if you could feel safe, loved, and respected by being embraced, by being kissed to whatever extent you desire, then I would much, much prefer this._

_Your heart is so kind, Myon. You are so compassionate. Thank you for not wishing to disrespect me in your own seeking for affection. My darling Hermione, you cannot disrespect me by showing me affection, for I want to share in everything that you have and everything that you are. But also I can be patient and this is the salient point._

_I have so enjoyed our letters and all the things we discuss, from arithmancy to air conditioning, have drawn me closer and closer to you. I love the intimacy of our letters. I am honored to be your ocean. I am honored to share in the inane rubber ducks of life. I am honored to be your lover from afar. You have my heart, Hermione. You have my mind. You have my joys. You have my sorrows. You have all the wisdom I have managed to understand. And when you wish it, you may have all the rest of me, my magic, my body, and my soul._

_And now, because I have them too, a tame fantasy, though no less detailed. We are sitting on a swinging bench out of doors in the rose garden I have grown for you, surrounded by Concordia and her peace. My arm is around your back, resting on the back of the bench, and you are leaning against me, nestled up close to me. We are sharing a single glass of red wine between us. It is dry, and not going too quickly. We are quietly watching the sunset together and the clouds have made it very dramatic on this day. The reds and oranges give way to shades of lavender and purple and finally the descending blue. Twenty or thirty minutes we spend in this peaceful way. Not every evening, but this evening. At some point you look up at me rather than the sunset and lean in. I lean down and our kiss is of dry red wine at first, before it turns sweet and there is only the taste of each other. Our enjoyment of each other, of the closeness, of the kiss, of the wine, of the roses, of the sunset, is utterly complete in this moment. Nothing is lacking, and we can feel that. All the other things that occupy our minds, the responsibilities and duties, they are all put aside for this moment. It is complete perfection. When it ends and we walk hand in hand to dinner and conversation resumes about everything and nothing, the flow of rubber duck life resumes once more, but we have had our dip in the ocean and it has left us rested and well._

_I love you, Myon. There is no part of me that does not cry out in longing for you, and it is such a relief to just say it. I love you, I love you, I love you._

_All my love, forever,  
_ _Viktor_

_PS - I will kiss your scars one by one when it is right for me to do so, and I know they will not detract from your beauty, only attest to your courage and iron will. War is not glorious, but you stand afterwards and you see yourself as broken and cursed. I see you as glorious and victorious - not the war, not your actions, not your pain, not your loss. You. That ineffable part of you that can never break, and does not bend, only burns on._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we have it. The first hundred thousand words.
> 
> If you haven't yet commented, I'd love to know what you think of the story so far. This is about half of what I've written already. A little less, maybe.
> 
> If you have commented occasionally or regularly as I've been posting daily - thank you! I read all your reviews and my responses over dinner to my husband and we both enjoy your reactions. And naturally, we'd love to know what you make of the first 100k.


	15. Chapter 13: Wherein the paparazzi are shamelessly used.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It can go both ways, if the stars align.

_ September 20, 199_  
_ _ Hogwarts Castle _

_ My sweet and loving Viktor, _

_ I can imagine returning your love. Quite clearly, as a matter of fact. How could you think I wouldn’t? Silly man. _

_ Thank you again for loving me. For giving me so many beautiful, wonderful, useful flowers that have such great meaning. Thank you for your jersey - and don’t think I didn’t see that coming, after we spoke about Harry’s, from the T-W Tournament. Thank you for the broom and associated equipment. I am the envy of my suitemates. Thank you for the amazingly beautiful diamonds. Thank you for the blankets that keep me warm at night. Thank you for the picture that reminds me of your love and care for me. Thank you for the brooch that keeps St Concordia close to me when I need her. And thank you so much for coming to visit me on my birthday, and spending the day with me. I loved talking with you. I loved crawling over you to give you kisses. I loved sitting by the sea and eating lunch with you. Finally learning to fly was not as terrifying as it might have been, and that was down to you. Thank you for holding me as I cried.  _

_ You are so kind, and your heart seems large enough to embrace this whole world. _

_ You know, in some ways it’s so much easier to just skip straight to the sex. And I suppose I could, and then swing back around to the ocean’s depths later, but it seems like cheating somehow. _

_I really miss my parents, Viktor. It’s been over a year. When last they knew me I was seventeen and I had fewer scars. I had never known what it was like to be hunted. I had never known what it was like to be starved. I had never known the profound gaslighting that a horcrux can do to me, twisting all my thoughts, all my assumptions, all my understandings of reality until I felt so alone and despondent and abandoned that I just wanted to die. I’m not sure which is worse, standing next to a dementor without a patronus, or wearing a horcrux. With a dementor I think one might eventually just want to sit down and die. With a horcrux I think one might actively do something about it, or worse, if the horcrux wanted you to go kill someone else first._ _Will they even recognize me, even if they remember me? Could they possibly forgive me for the decision I took away from them, for the actions I took despite knowing I would not have their consent? My worst fear is that they will never remember me. Second only to that is that they will remember me, and hate me forever. And yet, perhaps I do their love a heinous disservice by thinking that. But how can I assume forgiveness? I cannot. And I would do it all over again exactly the same way, even if I knew the pain I face now. And so I cannot assume forgiveness. Remorse, regret, guilt, shame, yes. And I would do it again if I had to, though I would hope if it should come to it again, I would have other means to protect them at my disposal._

_ As you say, war is hard. It kills people, and leaves the survivors broken. No one wins, really. It’s just that sometimes power changes hands in the end, and sometimes it doesn’t. Sometimes more people die, sometimes they don’t. Sometimes its the people you love most who die, sometimes it’s not. Those who wish to glorify it should try on its deprivations, first. _

_ I do like the idea that there is something inside of us that is untouched by all of this, entirely unsullied. It can neither bend nor break nor mar nor tarnish. Like a fire that could burn down to just embers, but from an ember we can rekindle a great bonfire, or something perhaps even more useful, like the internal combustion engine. _

_ Which brings me to electromagnetism. I haven’t read as much about this as I would have liked, Victor, so my explanation will be woefully incomplete, and I do apologize for that. And possibly scattered, because really, asking someone to explain electricity is like asking a wizard to explain magic. It’s the pervasive thing that powers your world that you  _ _ use _ _ , not explain. And of course it can kill you, like any good power source. _

_ So there’s electricity, which you may have heard of, and magnetism, which I’m sure you have, and the thing is, they describe are the same thing (which is now referred to in scientific circles as electromagnetism, though not perhaps by the general public) looked at from different angles. Electricity might be thought of as lightning, harnessed. You could think of electromagnetism as the non-magical version of the philosopher’s stone really. Not that we’ve managed immortality yet, but electricity has allowed for science to proceed to technology, and breakthroughs in medicine and health and wellness research. And people are living longer. Disease is being treated and cured. Crops are growing more efficiently. Famine is nearly extinct. And as for turning base metals into gold… well. I should probably take some money and invest in one of the American stockmarkets because there’s a company named Apple that entirely turns base metals into gold - gold in the pockets of their investors. I should talk to Narcissa about that, and see if the idea would cause her to break out in hives. Still. There are up-and-coming muggle companies that would be an excellent investment in, I think. But I digress. The muggle world is entirely dependent on the steady flow of electricity in their homes and offices. It powers their transportation - cars, trains, motorcycles, airplanes - their kitchen appliances, the things that allow them to clean clothes and dishes easily by organizing a few things, deciding on a few settings, and then turning it on and walking away. I honestly don’t know what I would have done without the microwave oven. You can create it by controlling the flow of water, the flow of wind, the light from the sun, or you can burn things to create it - coal or perhaps more dangerously, plutonium or uranium. Electricity was first harvested at the turn of the century in America, and I do at least know who did that. There was a bit of a non-violent war about which way it should be done. Thomas Edison versus Nichola Tesla. _

_ So, and this is a shaky definition and I apologize again for that. Electricity is all about current. Alternating or direct, it’s a current that flows and it’s the current, tiny or huge, that powers all sorts of devices from ovens to airplanes to computers. Too much current and you kill it and possibly yourself. Not enough current and it won’t turn on. And you can create current with a magnet and some wire and some movement. It’s all about the movement of electrons, I think, but here my education fails me. _

_ September 21, 199_ _

_ I solemnly swear I will not invade France. _

_ As I hope you know by now, I’m quite honored to be mentored by Elizabeth. To be exactingly specific, please let your father know that  _

_ a) I have already sworn fealty until death,   
_ _ b) I have no actual interest in being the monarch of muggles as I know it would be far more complicated and involved than being the monarch of a far smaller magical population,   
_ _ c) I’m too busy right now, and I likely will be until I die,   
_ _ d) the former death eater quotient in my cabinet of advisors is far outweighed by the non-death eater members. _

_ As I have no father at the moment to answer to, I will take the concerns of yours very seriously. He has already proven trustworthy and wise in so many respects with you.  _

_ Elizabeth has recommended and I quite see her point that I have at least some advisors who are quite different from me, and so I have endeavored to do this. Let me give you and Papa a rundown. From the trusted friends pile: Harry, Ginny. From the peers to be cultivated specifically for their perspective which is different from my own: Neville, Luna. From the far older adults to be cultivated specifically for their wisdom and experience which is different from my own pile: Minerva, Augusta. From the gratitude for entrance into this world pile: Narcissa. From the temporarily necessary pile: Ron. _

_ Harry Potter, 18. War Orphan, abused/neglected child. Impulsive. Courageous. Quietly Crafty. Would die for me. _

_ Ginny Potter. 18. From large pure-blood family. Impulsive. Courageous. Enterprising. Hardworking. Passionate. _

_ Neville Longbottom. 18. War Orphan. From pure-blood family. Thoughtful. Honest. Courageous. Modest. Stalwart. Grounded. Hardworking. _

_ Luna Lovegood. 17. War Orphan. From pure-blood family. Thoughtful. Intelligent. Frighteningly Insightful. Profoundly Compassionate. Inherited  _ _ The Quibbler _ _ media outlet, which she runs with cousins. Is inventing new broadsheet newspaper to begin as political watchdog upon my recommendation. _

_ Minerva McGonagall. 70+. Headmistress of Hogwarts, formerly Transfigurations Professor. Thoughtful. Courageous. Protective. Excellent boundaries. _

_ Augusta Longbottom. 70+. Neville’s grandmother. Seat on Wizengamot, Hogwarts Board of Governors. Long-time political opponent of Lucius Malfoy. Wise. Deeply Thoughtful. Has Integrity. Pure-blood. Currently holds my Wizengamot proxy. _

_ Narcissa Malfoy. 40+. My head of House Black, Lucius Malfoy’s widow. Seat on Wizengamot, Hogwarts Board of Governors. Her defection from death eaters secured our victory and the safety of herself and her son. Pure-blood. Thoughtful. Perhaps wise. Remorseful. Crafty. Subtle. Actively atoning.  _

_ Ron Weasley. 18. Ex-boyfriend, not long for group. Strategic thinker. _

_ I hope this satisfies your Papa and assures him I mean no harm, and I don’t think my advisors do, either. I want to work with people, not over and against them. And we are all far too tired of war. No more war. Long live diplomacy! _

_ On to other subjects. _

_ It is a Tuesday, which meant that I loved all my classes, except my tutoring session with the Ley Lines Expert. Tuesdays with him, and Thursdays with the Pendragon Historian, and it is a sad state of affairs, but I like neither one of them, but for entirely different reasons. The historian is so very full of himself. You’d think he was the self-absorbed son of Maria III herself. (Really, I have no idea what Maria’s sons were like before they died precipitously, but if there was a pompous, self-important little toad among their number, he might closely resemble my tutor. Still. I bite my tongue and learn what I can. There is valuable material here, though I am coming to wonder if he put everything he had in his books, which makes sense from a certain point of view. But it does mean that I could avoid his company and read his books instead. I am determined to make it until the holiday break before bringing to Minerva’s attention what a toad he is. Though I’m sure she already knows. But he is the foremost Pendragon historian, which he will happily tell you, should you converse with him for but a moment. Still, I am quietly smug about having access to information he doesn’t have; the elf records, and the slowly-revealed elf, centaur, and merfolk lore concerning their historical and ongoing relationships with each other and the Pendragons apparently as a proxy for all magical folk, possibly everywhere on Earth. And you know, I’m not sharing with him. I’ll write my own books eventually. _

_ Oh, but then there’s the ley lines tutor. I can’t put my finger on it, Viktor, but I don’t like him. I don’t like him at all and I don’t trust him, either. Oh, nothing so nefarious as the things I’ve encountered in the past, I don’t think, and Lord knows I’ve dealt with untrustworthy teachers who were, indeed, untrustworthy, but also decent teachers and not actually deadly, just disturbing. Not that my tutor would get the teacher of the year award, either. But as a very basic introduction, it has been incredibly useful, and that is what I will focus on. _

_ Just for the record, I believe my blood magic tutor to be calm, reasonable, kind, and an excellent teacher. My parliamentarian tutor is the most adorably fussy little man who gets so excited about his subject matter that I can’t help but be enthralled in our conversations which are so much livelier than my texts on the subject. And my wizarding world history tutor is the kindest, gentlest, and possibly oldest wizard I’ve ever met and he just sees us all as connected in this inextricable, sometimes painful, often beautiful web of actions and consequences, and he has a flair for a sort of visual, holographic magic (where does one learn that, I’d like to know!) that he uses in his explanations that just make everything so immediately clear that I’m filled both with envy and gratitude. It’s just the ley lines tutor I find ephemerally creepy and the Pendragon historian who gets on my very last nerve. (Concordia is extremely helpful in both of those sessions.) _

_ Thank you for the rose lore. It is so fascinating and lends such profound perspective, I’m not sure what to say. But I am honored and grateful that you have brought Saint Concordia into my life. You seem to have such a deep faith, Viktor, and I admit that is not something I’ve ever had, or really encountered in others outside of the clergy. I grew up in the Church of England, of course, and I would go perhaps monthly with my parents to our local church, and certainly on high holidays, but the idea of God has always been rather distant, vaguely comforting, and rather hands-off. It’s not that I don’t believe in God, or that I blame God for all the terrible things that happen to me, even the inexplicable ones; it’s quite clear to me that it’s people who do evil things to each other, and every act of evil is a choice made by a thinking/feeling person, and for those tragedies of life wherein no culprit can be found, this world is one in which we born into and then die. Never were we promised immortality. We are given, I believe, a chance to use the days we have in a productive manner, to try and find happiness for ourselves, to try and become better than we were yesterday, to love and surround ourselves with love, and perhaps if we can, to be a light that shines in the lives of those around us, to make the darkness a bit brighter. As to why God might have made a world in which death and darkness abound, I leave to the theologians. It may sound callous, but I can’t be bothered to care. No theory can be proven, I don’t care for pointless arguing, and I’ve got my hands full making my world a slightly less horrible place, trying to love and be loved, and finding my own light that might shine in the darkness, before death descends. And as I believe that God is at the very least inherently merciful, I trust him to sort out the rest on my behalf. Details and arguments that take away from what I know I need to do in my own life I won’t even hear. But I would like to hear what your faith is like for you, and how you see the world. Your words always inspire me and I have no doubt they will in this matter, as well. _

_ Changing the subject entirely, thank you for being so very clear about your willingness to have patience in regards to sex and intimacy. I would also like to be clear, as I was in the New Palace. I find you so attractive, Viktor, and I don’t want to  _ _ not _ _ be intimate with you. I do want our, well, level of intimacy to perhaps scale up in intensity as our relationship does. _

_ It is perhaps inevitable that I will fall in love with you. I am perhaps already mostly there. But I want to be sure. Sometimes it feels so terrifying I can’t bear it. But then I think of your words. Your smile. Your presence. And it is easy again. (It’s worth mentioning at this point that Luna believes I’m already completely in love with you, just terrified to admit it consciously. I’m not sure how one can be unconsciously in love with someone, but her intuition is frighteningly on-point, so take heart, dear one. Cousin Gregor has good odds of getting your inheritance.) _

_ And I still promise you, the moment I realize, Viktor, I will tell you.  _

_ Oh, Viktor. I will say sleeping naked has the advantage of not having to fumble through and past clothes in order to masturbate. And that is something quite convenient. Now that I'm not just always cold, there is a sensuous sort of quality to the experience. Feeling the sheets caress my skin is not so bad. I do realize I feel quite vulnerable, but I have been reminding myself that I am safe, and I will not have to get up in the middle of the night and run for my life. Still, it helps emotionally, perhaps, to have my pajamas laying out with my robe, just in case something happens, I can jump up and put clothes on. I'm no stranger to meeting challenges head on, but I think I'd rather do it with clothes on. _

_ Unless, of course, the challenge is you laying naked in my bed. That is a rather more delicious challenge than those I've faced most. But of course which aspect is challenging? The fact that you're going to try to make me scream your name? The fact that I might just want to stay there with you and ignore the rest of my responsibilities? The fact that we may do some things while specifically avoiding others? My mother always said that when you make something taboo, you make it desirable. Well, you start out desirable, so if there are somethings about you that are taboo in addition to this, then it will certainly be intense with you. And I imagine that when there is nothing taboo between us, it will not necessarily be less intense, but perhaps only differently so. _

_ Viktor, I can remember what you smell like and the thought of it makes me shiver with wanting you. I just want to lick. When you toss your head back your throat gets impossibly long, and all those muscles are corded and straining and I have such a strong urge to lick. And nibble. And touch and scratch. And kiss, certainly. And now that I've both seen a picture of you drawing an empassionata down your throat (to say nothing of drawing it down all the way to your obviously hard cock, and good God, Viktor - well, I’d say you have no idea what that does to me, but I’m sure if you spend anytime at all considering my potential responses you’ll have come across the four or five that simultaneously happen.) and I’ve seen you do it in person… and had the knee-jerk nibble response. Well, it’s not like my curiosity is satisfied and now I’m done. It’s more like an addiction has begun. Is this what it’s like for you? _

_ And suddenly the image of the dog begging for food at the table makes so much more sense, Viktor. Still. Doesn’t make me want you even less, even if it does make me compare myself in odd ways to the animal kingdom. _

_ Ugh, it’s late. I should sleep. (Naked, but with pajamas at the ready.) A bath, and more of  _ _ Henry V _ _ , and then I’m off to bed. And no, I like Henry V because you see him in the two previous plays about his father, and he’s an irresponsible nitwit, but when he’s presented with the imperative, he grows up quickly, is the model of a sane and reasonable ruler, genuinely loves the woman he marries even if it is a political maneuver, and the entire story is a cautionary tale about the needless and terrible nature of war, and to be careful who you allow to advise you and how much you trust their advice especially when it goes against your gut. According to Shakespeare, Henry V didn’t want to invade France, but his advisors essentially told him it was God’s will, so he did. _

_ Regardless of what my advisors may say, Viktor, I’m not invading France. But I will visit with you. I have family in Provence. Let’s go there, first. But then Paris. Definitely. Let’s eat our way through Paris, Viktor. _

_ Thinking of you,  
_ _ Hermione _

* * *

_ WEDDING BELLS?  
_ _ Daily Prophet Staff Reporter  
_ _ [Moving photograph of Krum & Granger, Krum’s finger delicately moving across a blurred forearm scar on Granger, heads together, one of his hands cradling one of hers.] _

_ When one of our intrepid photojournalists snapped this candid shot outside of Trillby’s in Diagon Alley on Sunday morning, he caught a clearly tender moment between International Quidditch Phenomenon and World-Class Seeker, Viktor Krum, 21, of the Vratsa Vultures, and the muggle-born war heroine, Lady Hermione Granger, Viscountess Black, and Pendragon Scion (Order of Merlin, 1st class), 19. Krum can be clearly seen carefully and lovingly inspecting one of Lady Granger’s lesser-known war wounds, the dreadful slur carved on her arm by a particularly cruel and unknown adversary, which this paper has graciously obscured. Old flames are clearly rekindling if this touching moment is anything to go by! _

_ Krum had a quiet visit to Britain for Lady Granger’s birthday on Sunday, though he was back at training in Vratsa for an early morning session with the coaches the next day, flying as well as he ever had. He was clearly refreshed by her presence! Could they have been discussing only the nightmares of war, or Krum’s fifth year of taking the professional quidditch circuit by storm with his masterful command of the pitch, his death-defying maneuvers, and his relentless records of winning catches? As inept as Lady Granger has been reported to be on a broom, perhaps there was a private flying lesson before an intimate lunch for two at an exclusive and romantic venue? Could they be discussing wedding bells? Many of Granger’s friends and classmates have tied the knot already, including her bestie, Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived (Order of Merlin, 1st class) who secretly eloped this summer with his longtime girlfriend, Ginerva Weasley (Order of Merlin, 2nd class). Would Krum return to Hogwarts for one more year to be with his lady love? Would Lady Granger give up her Pendragon inheritance to live with her gallant Bulgarian wizard? _

_ While the lovebirds refrained from making a statement on her birthday, could we expect an announcement soon? Who else could be worthy of the bravest young witch in Britain, now that Harry Potter is taken? _

_ Neither Krum nor Lady Granger could be reached for a statement after her birthday, but when contacted, the Headmistress of Hogwarts, the formidable Professor Minerva McGonagall (Order of Merlin, 1st Class) has released the following statement. “I cannot comment on the lives of my students for that would be a breach of trust of a most grave sort, but I would like your readership to know this: Hogwarts has enacted a new policy regarding the delivery of mail. Any howlers sent to students from persons other than their parents or guardians will be incinerated upon entrance to the grounds, very likely injuring the owl who is foolish enough to deliver them. Furthermore, unsolicited mail to students from addresses unknown will be held in my office and reviewed by the Board of Governors, who, as always, take the safety of our children very seriously. And if you, Mr. Reginald Paltry, whom I remember very clearly from your school days, edit, omit, or alter a single solitary word I’ve said in this statement, Hogwarts will sue the Daily Prophet and yourself for misrepresentation and libel, and we will win, as I will call as witnesses all of the former Headmasters and Headmistresses of Hogwarts whose portraits have listened very carefully to our interaction today. I hope I have made myself abundantly clear.” _

* * *

Having read the article in the Prophet, they all ended up laughing uproariously at the Gryffindor table and finished it off in a standing ovation for the Headmistress. After a while all the houses joined in and eventually everyone knew why they were clapping. In order to bring quiet, the Headmistress was forced to stand up and speak.

“Yes, yes. Thank you. You should realize that I am this protective over not just a single student, but of all the residents of this castle. You are all very dear to me, and I will not have people  _ meddling  _ with you for their own ends. You may be interested to know that since school began at the beginning of the month, the wards have incinerated three hundred and forty-one howlers directed to one hundred and eight different students. Before you ask, the students in question range in age, house, and prior affiliation, and so no. It is not simply one side targeting another. It is all targeting all, from our oldest students to our very youngest and most vulnerable first years. Further, more than three thousand letters have been waylaid. The Board of Governors is not amused, and is following up with various agencies to put a stop to the things found within. This includes death threats, jinx and curses, offers of marriage, and various forms of solicitation, none of which are appropriately offered to children, or in the case of our eighth years, adults who have entered into a binding contract of study with us and who have put matters of privacy and security into our hands.

“I will not stand for it.

“I will protect you.

“You will never be in danger, here, again.”

At this last, her voice broke, but her face was strong.

The standing ovation resumed, but was a roaring sound.

* * *

_ September 22, 199_  
_ _ Hogwarts Castle _

_ Dear Elizabeth, _

_ Well, if you haven’t seen today’s Daily Prophet, you will certainly see it tomorrow. There’s much truth to the article, shock of shocks. Viktor does want me to marry him, but I’m not sure yet. I know the depth of his sincerity, and apparently he’s loved me approximately this much since we met when he was seventeen. So, clearly this is the letter when I’ll explain about the wizarding sport Quidditch, played in the air, on broomstick, and I may as well skip around and tell you about the Moments of Mortal Peril in Fourth Year. And of course I shall introduce Mr. Viktor Krum. But before I do, other business. _

_ As far as I can tell from the Elf Histories and the Pendragon historian, I am the first of the name Hermione. _

_ Thank you for all of your suggestions for the coronation. I decided to ask Augusta and Narcissa each by letter, and they both responded that they would be pleased to help. I’m glad. They’re both very busy women, but you know what they say; if you want something done, ask someone who is busy to do it. They’ve suggested for the coronation sunset on December 31st of this year, and that the festival begin at sunrise of that day and end sunset of January 2nd. I’ve run it by the rest of the gang and while we haven’t done an actual arithmancy calculation, I’m inclined to believe its an excellent option. Let me know if the date works for you. _

_ Thank you for the translation. I’m practicing the blood magic ritual with my tutor, who is skipping ahead a bit and teaching me the mechanics and specifics of what I’ll need to do in order to truly unlock the vault. It’s fascinating really. Apparently, Maria must have suspected that her next heir would be some time indeed. She took the entire contents of the vault  _ _ out of time _ _ and so when I bring them back, they won’t be so much as an hour older than when they were put away. I have reason to believe that there may be intact books and tapestries after all! And they’ll probably all be written in Latin or Old Welsh. So, clearly I need to learn both languages, though there may be translation spells for Latin. Still, the best translation is one’s own. _

_ Now, Viktor. We met when he was an exchange student of sorts at Hogwarts. He was a seventh year, at 17 and had already been playing professional quidditch in the role of seeker for a year. I was in my fourth year, at 15. But I’m getting ahead of myself, because we actually met before the academic year began, in Moment of Mortal Peril #1. It was Bulgaria versus Ireland in the Quidditch World Cup. Ireland was favorite to win, but everyone knew Bulgaria would catch the snitch. _

_ Oh dear, I’m describing this terribly. First, Quidditch. Seven players to a team, two teams against each other, everyone is on racing brooms. There are three hoops high in the air on each end of the pitch. The keeper guards the hoops. There are three players who handle the Quaffle, a big almost round ball and try to throw it through the hoops, and I can’t for the life of me remember what the position is called. There are two beaters who have sturdy little bats and their job is to keep the two bludgers, which are iron balls the size of canon shot that are charmed to careen at the players’ heads randomly, away from their own team. And then there is the seeker, and their job is to hang about on the periphery until they see the golden snitch, which is a tiny golden ball with wings that moves like a hummingbird on a cocktail of speed and rocket fuel. Ten points for every time the quaffle goes through a hoop, and 150 points and the end of the game for whomever catches the snitch. Games can go on ridiculously long times, or shockingly short amounts of time, and you can see that you can catch the snitch and lose the game. _

_ My friend Ron’s dad was able to get us preeminent seats at the World Cup, and so I got to experience a bit of Krum mania (youngest seeker in the game, and the best in the world, scowls at the camera, etc., etc., etc.) and I wasn’t sure what the big deal was. Normally I take a book to Quidditch matches when Harry is playing and I’m obliged to go. This time I did actually watch the whole game. And Viktor caught the snitch while breaking his nose, and Ireland still won. I was in the box when the cup was being given, and that’s when I first met Viktor, poor soul. He was bloody, defeated, and exhausted, and no one was giving him medical care. So I fixed his nose. It was illegal magic, as I was not in school, but I did it anyway. Shortly thereafter there was a terrorist attack at the World Cup. Death Eaters were storming through, dragging with them a local muggle family they were actively torturing to death. One of them caught sight of Harry, but we all got away.  _

_ The Headmaster (Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Order of Merlin, 1st Class, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Head Mugwump of the International Confederacy of Wizards, and head of the secret Order of the Phoenix, may he rest in peace) had decided to revive the Tri-Wizard tournament in order to foster international relationships, very likely attempting to build bridges before active war broke out. The Tri-Wizard Tournament historically took place between Hogwarts in Britain, Beauxbatons in France, and Durmstrang in its undisclosed region of Eastern Europe. Hogwarts hosted this game known for its deadly trials, because what could possibly go wrong with that, with Tom on the loose? The heads of the other schools accompanied a delegation each and joined us. Unbeknownst to us the Defence teacher (naturally, it’s always the Defence teacher, and there’s a new one each year because of course Tom put a curse on the position when he wasn’t given it back in the fifties after he graduated) was a Death Eater using polyjuice potion to pose as a deadly retired auror who was also in the Order of the Phoenix. When all the of-age students added their names to the cup to allow the binding magic to select the best suited champions from each school, the Defence teacher added Harry’s name under a fourth school. So the champions were the seventeen year olds Viktor, Fleur Delacour, Cedric Diggory of Hufflepuff House in Hogwarts (may he rest in peace), and my idiot best friend Harry, who had just turned fourteen. _

_ It was very clear that the tasks, already set beforehand, were going to kill him, though naturally he is still here. That is because we all cheated and helped him survive. I have no guilt about this. _

_ While the Defence teacher was demonstrating Unforgivable spells (Highly illegal? Yes. Should this have been a red flag? Apparently not for a defence teacher - apparently it’s difficult to even keep them as long as the two academic terms the curse would allow.) and unfortunately proving one of the best defence teachers in memory (the only other genuinely good one being the year before, but he was outed as a werewolf by the Potions Master, who hated him, and admittedly saved us from him at one point the year before, but I digress into Mortal Peril, Take 3. Back to Take 4.), he was apparently also coaching Harry through all the tasks in order to deliver him directly into Tom’s hand via portkey at the end of the third and final task, the bastard. _

_ First task, dragons. I pride myself that I got Harry though the spellwork of that one. Harry, of course, managed to face Norberta (remember Hagrid’s baby dragon? They grow quickly.) and not die, but it was a near miss. Viktor did excellently well with his Chinese Fireball, in case you’re curious.  _

_ Second task, merfolk, but really, the lake. Hostages were taken (against their will as I can well attest as I was Viktor’s hostage) and secured by the merfolk at the bottom of the lake. (Gelwyn has apologized quite adequately. She said she did not approve of treating children in such a way, but did not dare to break faith with the Headmaster, which I perfectly understand. I hold Dumbledore responsible, entirely. There was an imbalance of power he took advantage of.) And by secured, I mean the merfolk protected us while we were unconscious. Harry got there first, but waited with the hostages, as it was hinted we would all die if we weren’t rescued in time (dreadful, isn’t it? Gelwyn wouldn’t have allowed that at all, but the Headmaster was happy to imply the real threat was the merfolk.) Cedric arrived second and rescued his girlfriend Cho, Viktor arrived shortly after and rescued me, and Fleur was stopped by the grindylows, so Harry brought back her little sister, and his best friend Ron. Harry got points off for being late, and points on for being heroic (very like him, too), and Viktor got third and scared the hell out of me because he transformed his top half into a shark in order to breathe underwater. Fancy charms work, but it didn’t mean he swam any faster. Harry ate gillyweed, which gave him gills and webbed hands and feet, which turned out tactically to be quite an advantage. _

_ A brief digression, Hogwarts doesn’t often have dances or balls, but this year we had a Yule Ball, and Viktor asked me. We’d been friends before he asked, and mostly we just studied together both before and after the ball. He’s a brilliant wizard, but no one cares to look past the quidditch. At seventeen he was awkward and gangly on the ground (an essay of elegance in the air, even I noticed this), but he still had a dark and rugged sort of attraction about him. His English wasn’t very good at this point, not like it is now, but it was much better than my Bulgarian, or any of the other languages he speaks, save perhaps French. I think I have him there. Sometimes we would meet and go for a walk around the lake, but not often. He had groupies that were highly annoying. Well, actually, Harry’s groupies were annoying. Viktor’s groupies were a plague. I mean, honestly. They’re just people. So in my estimation, Viktor has always been a friend, and sometimes a friend I can confide in and count on more than any other save Harry at this point. And in everyone else’s view, including apparently Viktor’s, we did not go on one date (the ball), we were dating. Since I’m entirely outnumbered and I quite fancied him, I’ll take the majority opinion: we dated that year. _

_ Third task, hedge maze from hell. At this point people were dying. One of the officials was found dead - turns out he was the Death Eater’s father and he recognized his son, somehow. It was implied the hedge maze could kill the champions, and unlike the so-called-danger of the merfolk, the hedge meant business. Also, the defence teacher was loose in there, and mucking things about. He performed two of the three Unforgivables, Imperiousing Viktor (controlling his mind without his awareness or consent) and forcing Viktor (my sweet, kind Viktor) to Crucio Fleur into unconsciousness. (It’s the torture curse. I’ve had it used on me in my seventh year.) He was meant to find Cedric and do the same, so that Harry could get to the end of the maze and grab the prize/portkey and go get sacrificed to Tom’s resurrection. Instead, Harry and Cedric grabbed it at the same time out of a sense of being fair-minded idiots, Tom killed Cedric, used Harry in a blood magic ritual resurrection (I don’t recommend it, apparently it doesn’t bring back your nose, or your sense of humor.) and then nearly killed Harry, who bless his heart, managed to escape thanks to his wand which is Tom’s twin (oh, ironies), wand arcana, and the vengeful spirits of Harry’s parents who were the very last people Tom killed the last time he was up and around. _

_ And when Harry returned with Cedric’s dead body to a crowd of spectators, none of whom believed him when he said Tom had returned, the defence professor took my grieving, sobbing, heartbroken, and exhausted best friend to his office where he tried to kill him. He was clearly unsuccessful, and we rescued him, and the man he had captured and was impersonating. _

_ Viktor and Fleur got sorted, after about two years became friends again, and Viktor says that after talking with his father every night for fourteen months he could begin to forgive himself for something he had no control over. _

_ Also, Viktor’s headmaster was a former Death Eater, and so we were worried about him the entire year, but he was no threat at all in the end. Red herrings. Red herrings everywhere. _

_ So, that was Quidditch, the World Cup, How I Met Viktor, and the Rundown on Year Four. Now for Viktor of the present. He’s a poet, a scholar, and an athlete, he’s clearly spent the last four years studying English in which he now fluent, he prayed every day during the war that I would survive (which could be the sole reason I did against all odds), and he now courts my affections. He is willing to hand over his inheritance to his cousin, move to Britain, help me with my work and take my name. After Quidditch he wants to earn a mastery in Blood Magic, which some people here say is dark, but it would be amazingly useful, as the Pendragons used it like it was going out of style. Which I suppose it was. And if I can just figure out if I am in love with him or not, I’ll know how to decide. _

_ He does kiss amazingly well, though. _

_ Your friend,  
_ _ Hermione _

_ PS - Sushi with Gelwyn in T-2 Days. Will keep you updated concerning ladies in lakes bearing weaponry of various sorts. _

_ PPS - I realize I didn’t tell you why I imagine the Board of Governors didn’t call for Dumbledore’s resignation. First, the only one who wanted it was Narcissa’s husband, and everyone knew why - he’d bought his way out of a prison sentence the last time Tom’s followers got rounded up. But here’s what I think. The former headmaster of Hogwarts was an insanely powerful man. Possibly the most powerful wizard alive in the world, he seemed entirely like a benevolent grandfather, and he did manage to, as far as I can tell, with the American Bombs, win the last world war. (Grindelwald was using the Nazi prison camp ovens in blood magic rituals that were strengthening the axis powers. Among other things. Guess who killed Grindelwald? His childhood friend and lover, the humble transfiguration professor of Hogwarts, due to be it’s next headmaster.) They tried to get him to be minister of magic, but he would stay in his Scottish castle and consolidate power until the next dark lord came along and needed to be defeated. Also, his familiar was a Phoenix, an animal who chooses only the brave and pure-at-heart. Few didn’t like him, and fewer distrusted him, and nearly all could be justly accused of a sour grapes attitude. _

* * *

_ September 23, 199_  
_ _ Buckingham Palace _

_ Dear Hermione, _

_ Your life has been fascinating. I approve of this Viktor, providing you can make a decision regarding the state of your heart. I expect to be invited to the wedding. Tell me, is it your intention to baptize your children? It would be reasonable for you to expect at least one royal godparent for each child, if so. As only two of us know of you, you have a slim choice, but a choice nonetheless. _

_ The magic of the contents of the vault sounds ingenious and very well planned. I hope the ritual goes well and has no unintended negative consequences. I am all too familiar with them, as I imagine you are. _

_ I like Headmaster Dumbledore progressively less, and Chief Gelwyn progressively more. Tom I like not at all. I presume that Narcissa’s deceased husband was one of these Death Eaters? Was she as well, or just a supporter? _

_ I am glad Augusta and Narcissa have decided to put aside their differences and work together. I suspect when this is all finished, they will either not be able to stay in the same room as the other for a number of years (which should make Wizengamot meetings unexpectedly amusing), or they will have each come to appreciate the other a fair bit more than they ever thought, or are prepared to admit in public. Naturally the outcome will be obvious when it occurs. Please keep me informed. _

_ I am pleased to say that December 31st, 199_ at sunset is confirmed for your coronation. If it is convenient to you, Charles, Pembroke, and I will arrive by car at the gate of the preserve at one in the afternoon on December 31st, and we will be very pleased to stay two nights and take our leave of you on January 2nd at two in the afternoon. I would appreciate a brief rehearsal with your master of ceremonies after I arrive, and of course I would also like to speak to him or her, through you, concerning the construction and pacing of my portion of the ritual. I would also appreciate an escort of some sort while we are in residence and outside of our rooms, to help relate to us the significance and meaning of what we see, and to keep us from making any cultural faux-pas. _

_ I am looking forward to all of these things on your behalf, and vicariously on my own. _

_ In friendship,  
_ _ Elizabeth _

* * *

_ KRUM- MOVING TO BRITAIN?  
_ _ Daily Prophet Quidditch Staff Writer  
_ _ [stock photo of Krum in kit] _

_ Trade offers are a matter of public record, and over the last two days, first the Penzance Pirates, then the Bournemouth Bulls, the Bristol Billywigs, the Ely Inferi, the Nottingham Bandits, the Dunblane Dementors, and the Chudley Canons have all submitted credible offers ranging from 4500G to 9234G per annum with benefits ranging from double days off, double injury pay, private boxes, all the way to extended handfasting and paternity leave. _

_ While his stats continue to improve year by year, Viktor Krum was under contract for his first four years at Vratsa but has been a free agent this past year, and the no-trade portion of the season has ended with the August 31 deadline. With a blooming romance to a Welsh Wizarding Royal, will the Bulgarian Superstar finally leave his hometown team and go international? While he’ll still be able to play for Bulgaria in the World Cup so long as he maintains his citizenship, roughly one quarter of British quidditch sides are made up foreign national athletes. If he manages to avoid injury and doesn’t choose an early retirement, Krum has fourteen more years of peak flying ahead of him. _

* * *

Dean Thomas was running a book on which team Viktor would switch to, and if he would do it before the week was out. With glee, Ginny announced that the odds for the Canons were 50:1. For an entire day Hermione was inundated with probing questions from virtual strangers. She replied kindly and specifically for the first twenty or so inquiries, and then she just switched to a shrug and a, “Dunno, sorry.” 

Dean was due to close the betting at 11pm on Friday night, and it was at ten that night when Luna and the suitemates were hanging out around Hermione’s fireplace, drinking cocoa and chatting that Luna admitted she had put twenty galleons on the Ely Inferi.

Ginny shot straight up from her slouch on the couch. “Ely are 5:1! Harry! How much money do we have on us?”

“Wait, wait, wait. Two things,” Neville said. “First, we know Luna’s gonna be right, because she’s Luna, so is it really fair to bankrupt Dean from our unimpeachable tip-”

“-If he can’t pay up, he shouldn’t be running a book! And you know he’s made a packet off the ones before. It’s only fair he lose on this one,” Ginny pointed out.

“Well, second thing is, if we all bet on the Inferi, and of course that’s where he’ll end up going, we now know, won’t that make Hermione look bad? Like she gave up insider tips that she didn’t share with anyone else?”

“I solemnly swore to Dean that I didn’t know where he was going, and if I found out from him, I wouldn’t bet, nor tell anyone who would bet. I couldn’t actually know where he’s going because owls don’t travel that fast and when Viktor makes the decision and signs with someone he’ll have moved the next day and playing the day after that. So don’t worry about me. And besides, I’m keeping my word, and I know Dean will back me up on this, because it’s his reputation at stake. He wouldn’t have run the book if I knew. And if he goes broke on this one, well, let that be a lesson to him,” Hermione said.

“Tommy and Negash,” Harry said. “Let’s pool what money we want to bet and go proposition Tommy and Negash. We’ll offer to go halvsies with them.”

“Oh, that’s brilliant,” Ginny breathed out.

“I’ll go,” Neville offered. “No one suspects me. Ever.”

“Seven years of unblemished reputation for always doing the right thing,” Hermione pointed out. “Are you sure you want to be corrupted by the rule breakers, now?”

“Catch up, Hermione,” Neville scoffed. “I’m a badass with a sword.”

The sitting room dissolved into laughter and everyone went to their respective rooms to get what galleons they could afford to lose. Not that they would.

* * *

_ VIKTOR KRUM TO JOIN ELY INFERI!  
_ _ Daily Prophet Quidditch Staff Writer _

_ In a stunning move that surprised the Quidditch world, but perhaps not the social circles of Britain, Viktor Krum, 21, formerly of the Vratsa Vultures has made the switch with only two months left to the season. His new contract is lucrative and highly suggestive. He was content to stay in his home town for only 3400G, low pay for such a high level athlete, but his new agreement with Ely will bring him 8400G per annum, and extra handfasting and paternity leave. Krum has signed a stunning six year contract, and the only codicil added is that he retains the right to change his last name without suffering any branding penalty that is standard with any side but Holyhead. The new contract makes his future plans fairly clear. But will the war heroine he courts cooperate? _

_ “We’re very happy Viktor has decided to join the Inferi,” says Inferi Head Coach J.X.C. MacAster, when reached for comment. “He’s a dedicated man and a quality seeker. I think he’ll fit excellently well with our team’s strong defensive arms and excellent offensive flyers. Our second and third string seekers will be able to learn a lot from him and I look forward to running him through the paces at practice on Monday. No, I couldn’t possibly comment on the personal lives of any of my players, and if you ask again I’ll set the dogs on you, and good luck getting away.” _

_ “We always knew our time with Viktor was limited,” says Vultures Head Coach M.A.G. Anuszkievich. “He’s a good boy, and an excellent athlete, and it’s time for our little chick to fly the nest. We send him off with love and good wishes. Ely thinks they know how lucky they are, but they will find in time that even they have underestimated him. But why do you now ask me about his intimate life? No, no. This is not right. I have already told you, he is the very best of men. Whomever he chooses to be with in his life will surely know this and be equal to him. Go now, we are done.” _

_ Neither Krum, nor his purported paramour could be reached for comment. When the Countess Black was contacted for comment, she made the following statement: “I’m thoroughly shocked at the indecency of your questions, and I would ask you henceforth to kindly keep them to yourselves. If my heir, Miss Granger Black Pendragon, the Viscountess of Black, and the Pendragon Scion, should decide to form an alliance with an outstanding young man of repute, an announcement shall be made in the due course of time following the forms of good taste. The Grangers and I are in absolute agreement on this matter, and we have no further comment until such an announcement shall be made. I bid you good day.”  _

_ The Grangers and the Krums were unavailable for comment. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ::nods:: Yup. Yup. This is the chapter where my husband gets a cameo, though I made our last name more obviously pronounceable.
> 
> There's a funny story about how I threw all his mail away for months when we lived in a commune together, because I didn't realize that 'Linus' was a nickname. "Who's Anuszkiewicz?" I asked one day, looking at the name on the back of his sweatshirt. 
> 
> "Me," he said.
> 
> "Oops," I said.


	16. Chapter 14, part 1 of 2: Wherein Hermione's patronus changes.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It happens, sometimes, when you’re in love. And sometimes too, when you fall out of love.

There was a knock on her study door, and when she opened it, Harry stood there with a piece of foolscap in his hand. He offered it to her and Hermione saw that it was the draft of a letter. 

“Let me know what you think,” he said as they left the door open and walked back into her study and sat down before the fireplace.

_Narcissa,_

_I know this is sudden, but I know you’re aware Hermione’s boyfriend is moving to England, and I was wondering if it would be too inconvenient for your renovations if I offered him a place to stay? He’s a pureblood, so I’m sure Kreacher would be slightly amenable to working with him, and I imagine he’ll be gone most of the time, and will at most require a bed and breakfast. He also only has a few days at most to get uproot and move, and I doubt he’ll be anywhere other than a hotel or bedsit for a while, until he gets settled. And by then he might be married to Hermione._

_Let me know,  
_ _Harry_

Hermione did not drop her head into her hands, because it was a good and kind thing Harry wanted to do. And if after much delicate conversation, once there was actually _furniture and complete plumbing in the house,_ an offer might be made, but now? It was clear to Hermione that Narcissa absolutely had her hands full as it was, and Ely had certainly made provisions for Viktor’s move, at least in the short term. She hadn’t gotten a letter from him, but she was sure she would, soon. To the best of her knowledge he was still living with his parents, but if she knew Viktor, he had already packed before he looked over any of the contracts all those Quidditch teams had sent to him.

Hermione searched for the right words. She hadn’t, in fact, received an owl from her beautiful man, but she expected one tonight, or tomorrow at the latest.

Hermione stared into the fire only for a moment before thanking him effusively for his generosity. She assured him that Viktor would be alright in the housing provided by Ely, and then perhaps when the townhouse was a little homier and all the major renovations were complete, an offer could be made. And besides, the plaster dust might be a detriment to his athletic prowess.

Harry laughed, which was entirely Hermione’s point, and they both agreed to bring it up to Narcissa gently and in person in a month or three to see what she thought of it, strategically.

* * *

Getting to Buckingham Palace wasn’t all that bad, and was about a mile walk from Diagon Alley. Hermione could have taken the tube, and considered it, but it was a lovely day in London and so she decided to get out and stretch her legs, instead. She arrived a hair early and took the water she was offered while she waited to be seen. She’d decided to wear her suit again. Even though the larger demonstration she’d hinted at and finally organized with Luna and the Twins’ help and Harry and Ginny’s consent really called for more casual clothing, being introduced to the Prince of Wales was not an occasion for jeans.

She still wore her red boots and her Concordia corsage, however. And given the occasion, she also wore her earrings, though her hair was down and mostly cooperating.

She was shown in and introduced, shook hands and got through it all without stammering, and noticed that whatever disbelief the older man may have been feeling, he absolutely did not show anything but polite interest. And that was a trick Hermione decided she would like to learn.

“Well, my small demonstration is this. I mean, I could make things fly about the room, but that always struck me as what one would expect of a poltergeist, and I am not that. So, I borrowed this from my best friend. It’s been in his family for time out of mind, and it was said to be given to one of his ancestors by Death himself. Whether or not that’s true, this is the only one like it in the world.”

Hermione opened her black beaded purse and pulled out Harry’s Invisibility Cloak. She fwapped it out and then allowed herself a little drama in order to sweep it out and around her shoulders in a gigantic arc, making sure to pull up the hood and back down around her face. Once it was settled and she was concealed, she continued to speak.

“All other methods to create and maintain invisibility have some inherent flaw that allow the determined or powerful to break through them. Except this one. Of course, you can still use your other senses, including logic to deduce if someone is there, but as you see, the retina simply does not register it,” she said, walking slowly around them. When she returned to where she had begun, she pulled the hood back and let it fall behind her, but kept the cloak on. 

“So. That’s the small demonstration. As advertised. Small. I have a bit of a larger one, if you’re interested.”

“What will it entail, exactly?” Elizabeth asked, her voice very even.

“A quick outing. I would like to offer you both tandem broom rides around the ancient Pendragon castle in Wales, if you like. I can sweeten the deal with some totally intact ancient Roman architecture, frescoes and everything. We would travel by elf, which is the nicest way to travel in the magical world. We would meet some friends of mine there, and they would take you up, because I’m really not to be trusted on a broom.”

“Which friends?” asked Elizabeth, and Hermione still didn’t know if she was sold.

“Harry and Ginny Potter,” Hermione answered, and to Charles she added, “My best friend and his wife.”

“Yes, at the very least, I would like to see the castle. Charles, call for our coats, would you?”

When he was finished, and a servant had come and gone, Hermione spoke again.

“When we get our coats I’ll call for one of my elves. But now if you don’t mind, I’ll send a quick message to Harry.”

She waited for Elizabeth to nod for her to proceed. Then Hermione pulled her wand out of her sleeve and produced her patronus… and was shocked to discover it was a giant, shaggy dog easily as large as she was. She was so shocked she let her happy memory slide away for a moment, and the dog was gone.

“Are you alright, my dear?”

Hermione blinked and remembered how Viktor had so clearly described the guard dogs his father bred. Ovcharkas. Russian Mountain Shepherds. And how they could get to be the size of a large pony, or a medium sized bear. And how it was his patronus.

“It’s usually… an otter. And… I think it means I’m in love.”

The ticking of the clock punctuated the silence in the room.

“Well, that answers that question for you, doesn’t it?” Elizabeth said with such dry wit one might have blinked and missed it.

Finally Hermione shook her head, cleared her throat and tried again. She thought of Viktor praying every day for her for so long, and the bright, glowing ovcharka jumped out of her wand. “See you in Wales. And don’t forget to tell Minerva!” she said to the dog who bounded out and got further and further away until it vanished before it reached the wall.

Hermione explained the uses of a patronus while they waited for their coats, and Hermione’s was brought to her as well. When they were alone again, she called for Tampy.

“Yes, miss?” Tampy said, smiling and wearing her tie-dyed pillowslip with pride. 

“Will you memorize this location for me? This is the sitting room in Buckingham Palace.”

Tampy closed her eyes gently and breathed. “This is a _muggle_ place, miss, and there are muggles _here_ , miss.” Tampy opened one eye and stared at Hermione with a gimlet gaze. “Is miss being naughty? Will Miss Cissy be mad? Tampy can obliviate-”

Hermione knelt down and took both of Tampy’s hands. “No, no, no, no, no. I promise to you I am not breaking the International Statute of Secrecy. These two fine, upstanding people are important enough in the muggle world that they are allowed to know. Ma’am has known since she was my age, and Sir is finding out now.”

Tampy opened both eyes and looked at Hermione squarely. The ticking of the clock marked the passage of time. Suddenly she realized a strange and beautiful truth, in the quiet of Tampy’s hard gaze.

Very slowly, Hermione spoke. “The International Statute of Secrecy isn’t for my safety, is it, Tampy? It’s for yours. Yours, and the Centaurs, and the Merfolk. Because witches and wizards can pass. And goblins can hide.”

“Goblins have their own magic, miss. They are totally unconnected. They are not like us. But We Three need the Fourth. But the Fourth does not like to need us. But the elves are the First, and connect back to the Fourth, and so the ring is complete, and the magic continues.”

Hermione listened with wide eyes. “Thank you for sharing your lore with me. Would you talk about this with me later? It would be very, very helpful to me. And I promise I will never do anything to endanger you, never, nor will I seek to be separate from the Three.”

A shiver ran down Hermione’s spine and Tampy nodded and squeezed her hands.

“Bound you are, Hermione Jean Granger Black Pendragon, by this promise true, to me, Tampy daughter of Kreacher of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. If you break your word, you will die,” Tampy said gravely.

Hermione was surprised and not surprised all at once. Of _course_ it was that easy to make an Unbreakable Vow with an elf. Their magic was much more powerful. Hermione grinned at Tampy. “I will never break this promise, so I don’t see a problem.”

Tampy threw herself at Hermione in a hug that knocked her back slightly. “ _Miss is the best witch of all the world! The kindest and the truest and the best!”_

Hermione smiled. “I love you, too, Tampy. Now, have you memorized this place for me?”

Tampy regained her own feet. “Yes, miss.”

“Will you bring us all to the front entrance of the enclosure wall of the Pendragon castle?”

Tampy raised her hand, and snapped.

* * *

_September 23, 199_  
_ _The Rosary  
_ _Vratsa, Bulgaria_

_My dearest Hermione,_

_I am so relieved to see in black and white that you are falling in love with me, though I did suspect this might be the case. I have two,_ _two_ _letters from you that are begging for answers, and I apologize for not writing when I returned to Bulgaria. Much has happened here. But before I go into that, please know that I read pertinent portions of your letter to Papa three different times (the third time, he took notes), and he is much relieved by your humility no more so than your humor. I hope that when I am closer to hand you will count me among your advisors, though you will certainly get my opinion, regardless._

_So, the past few days have been intense. I returned for practice on Monday only to be surprised that practice was only a half day so that the team could throw me a bachelor’s party combined with a going-away party. I swear I said nothing of the sort to them, but some of my teammates knew I was to visit you, and all have known that I was in love with someone I met when I studied briefly in Scotland. And I did tell the head coach and the manager that I was going to be switching teams soon. They were very kind and understanding and supportive, and as it turns out, scheming in the background. By Tuesday the contract offers started coming in by courier, and by Wednesday evening (last night, that is) Papa and I figured that we had all the offers and we reviewed them into the night both evenings. We both liked Ely the best for a variety of reasons, but I did need to ask for slightly different things and see if they would accept my counteroffer. We received the new contract this evening, I have signed it and expressed it back. They will receive it tomorrow, I move on Saturday, Sunday I will have off, and I begin with the Ely Inferi on Monday morning. But perhaps by the time you receive this letter you will have already read about it in the newspapers. Ah, well. So I will talk to you of other things._

_First, though perhaps this ought to be last, the letter you slipped me at the portkey station… I’m surprised it did not immolate on the way home._

_In no particular order, yes I did imagine fucking you, yes we will keep a broom in the bedroom, yes I am strong enough to hold you as we have sex against a wall, yes it probably would feel quite different to have you ride me because at the very least different muscles will be in use, to say nothing of the ability to touch and be attentive to different areas of the body, it is totally impractical to have sex on the back lawn in front of the empassionatas, but I will now dream of it regardless, and consider me challenged. I will have you screaming my name one day, if not immediately. I do not pretend to be an amazing lover, Hermione, and we both know I need to increase my stamina. But I am patient and dedicated and I will eventually learn all of the things you love best and all of the ways you receive pleasure and I will use them to drive you out of your mind. This seems obvious to me._

_You want to know how my cock feels inside of you? Oh, Myon. So do I. Will you be wet with desire when I approach you? Will I need to slowly and gently gain your attention? I could. I would be happy to run my hands all over your skin touching you as I kiss your neck. I could undress you bit by bit, drawing out the process until you are entirely bare. I would lead you to our bed and lay you down on the sheets. I would kiss my way up your thighs. I do love your thighs. They’ve tormented me since I was seventeen. Imagining them wrapped around my waist, over my shoulders, or laying against my own, I have so much love for your thighs, Myon. But I would kiss all the way to the part of you that none of my books wants to discuss. (Is there a proper name for this area that is not derogatory or entirely medical? Or a nickname that is as beautiful as it is? I could translate the way we speak of such a body part, but I do not know if that will suffice. Regardless,) I would approach with proper reverence this beautiful part of you and lavish it with my attention and my tongue, and I suspect if you are not quite wet with desire to begin with, you will be shortly. The care I would take not to penetrate you while bringing you to orgam would likely translate to not wanting to penetrate you at all, just so I do not lose myself, but there would be a time in which that concern would no longer be with us. Shall I place this fantasy before or after? Such a decision. After, perhaps, so that I can suck small but important parts into my mouth as you wish me to, and ease my fingers inside of you and move them just so to see how well you like it. That part of you is like a garden to me. You are my empassionata, Myon._

_So you noticed how hard I was in the photo shoot? Yes, that is the difficulty of not using the charm we discussed, and still thinking of you in an intimate way. Quite soon it is very obvious to anyone with eyes in their heads. I suppose the good news was that I was so hard there was no chance my trousers would simply fall off. The bad news was that I had to focus ever harder on you so as not to be entirely embarrassed, and I just got so incredibly hard, far more so then I have been in public in so many years. My mother, who may be a saint, rescued me by the end, coming out of the house when it was just finishing up. She played hostess and got them off the property in just such a way they might not have realized they were being hustled out and left me free to escape with the shreds of my dignity, and my shirt. I went to my room and came so hard, thinking of burying my face between your thighs._

_And that is where I will leave it tonight. I have already signed the contract, so today was my last day with the Vultures. Tomorrow I will finish this letter to you, run some errands, and finish packing, not that there is much left. I do have a feeling there will be last minute gifts from Mama and Papa. Everything but the brooms and my cello goes in the trunk, and tomorrow night all the family is gathering for dinner to say goodbye. But not for long, at least not for my parents. They have invited us both to dinner on Sunday, October 3rd. Let me know if that might be possible for you, my dearest Myon._

_September 24, 199__

_Your explanation of electromagnetism is not quite as succinct and exact as I am used to from you, and now I am thoroughly intrigued. We must discuss this at length, soon. And possibly acquire some books that will explain in depth and so to continue both of our educations on the subject._

_Trust your intuition concerning your ley lines tutor, and please speak of your concerns with Minerva sooner, even if your concerns are vague. She is overseeing your independent study. She is one of your personal advisors. Please do not set a somewhat arbitrary date in the future and then stick to it for no reason other than your own natural stubbornness, Myon. Do not let this be like the night of sleep you lost sleeping naked and cold just to prove a point. I do not say that this is, as you say, deadly when it may not be. But my dearest Hermione, there is a very large area between dangerous and deadly, and your safety is not novel to Minerva. Allow her to do her job. Please, Myon. Please._

_Your Pendragon Historian will likely boast of teaching you for the rest of his life. Take some peace from what he will never tell you: This is the highlight of his small life, writing about your family. And do write your own books on the subject. I can’t wait to read your drafts._

_I am glad your other tutors are working out so very well for you. They all sound like very good people._

_My dearest Myon, all that you say about what you believe, this is what I believe also. There are many things I don’t understand, but it doesn’t bother me. It doesn’t shake my focus from the things that I know to be true about myself - I am better than I think I am, and capable of more than I imagine - and the things I know to be true about why I am here in this world - to shine a light, to express and enjoy love, to be as real as I can as often as I can, to learn wisdom and allow it to bring me to a place of joy more often. And this I attribute perhaps differently than you, but that is okay, I think. I say that this is what God wants for us, not war, not hatred, not killing for any reason, but to learn how to be loving, how to be wise, how to be joyful, how to be the light that we are. And the details are just details. Though I do note that you and I will celebrate Christmas and Easter on different days. Then again, we could make the most of it, and simply celebrate it twice each year and use it as an excuse to visit many different family members._

_I can agree that to make something taboo (I have looked up this word, and I like it so much, Myon) is to make it the most intensely desired thing. I do have some experience with this, luscious one. I thought I would die the year we met, not because of that ridiculous tournament we all took so seriously, nor any other actual danger, but because my teenage self could not imagine a world in which you would actually have sex with me (though perhaps my imagination came closest when you walked down the staircase in that beautiful dress, your eyes shining with happiness to spend the evening with me) and the thought that it could never, ever happen made my body want to shatter in pain and longing. And yes, desire is like an addiction sometimes, perhaps. And then again, perhaps not, because when we need to we do so easily set it aside. No, not when the other things that press upon us are genuinely unimportant, but when duty itself calls to us, we go. We answer. We do, until we can return once more to where our heart lies._

_My heart lies with you, Myon._

_And just now I have received the information about the move itself. Tomorrow is Saturday, and I take a portkey directly to Inferi Hell, Ely’s stadium at ten in the morning, local time, which will be noon for me. I will be met by the manager of the team who will take three hours to show me the stadium, the details, and then walk me to my hotel, a discreet place in Ely’s wizarding quarter. The team pays for the move, and the first three months of the hotel, since such moves happen so quickly, it is hard to play good quidditch and also get one’s bearings. I will take at least two hours to myself to settle in and run a few errands, I think. After this, I will be free until Monday morning, when I will be expected at Inferi Hell (oh, what a ridiculous name, Myon) at a quarter after eight in the morning. All players are expected to be ready and on the field for training at nine each day (what luxury! An extra hour to myself in the morning) but I will go in a bit early for another round of orientation. And we finish at five. Again, the shortened day will be something to get used to, but I’m sure I shall. Whether or not I will train for two extra hours on my own, or spend my time otherwise occupied is yet to be determined. I am interested in knowing the head coach’s rationale for such short days. For all I know, I will flourish under such circumstances and my performance will continue to improve. All the same, please do not be offended, but I do not want to invite you to my first game. I will need to marshall all my focus, and quidditch pales in importance to you._

_Ah, Myon. It has not yet been a full week since we have said goodbye, and yet I ache to see you. I understand entirely that you have many calls on your time, and a full day with me at this point is a luxury we may not often enjoy. However, I do have much reading to accomplish in my free hours, and if I may be permitted more time in your presence if only to read next to you while you do your work, I would take it, willingly._

_If your time is not already spoken for this evening, my beautiful North Star, let me take you to dinner. It would be casual and muggle. But please, Saturday or Sunday, let me come to you, hold you in my arms, remind you of my devotion, and slowly change the course of your heart. A single embrace, a solitary kiss, the sound of you sighing my name will be enough to sustain me for another week. (More, sadly, does not last me longer. It only increases my appetite and desperation for you. Still, if we have time for more, you know I want it. If we have time only for less, a kiss will do.)_

_I know you will get this owl mid-day on Saturday, as I will send it express from Bulgaria tonight. Return the message to me at The Cross Hotel, Ely. (This is also their floo address, should you need it.) Write soon, my treasured one. The time I wait for your response will be a sweet agony of expectation, hope, and the thrill of the memory of your touch._

_Be not far from me, now that I have come so close._

_All my love, forever,  
_ _Viktor_

* * *

_September 25, 199_  
_ _Hogwarts Castle_

_My sweet and beautiful Viktor,_

_You are my North Star._

_I will present myself for dinner at 6pm tonight. I’ll floo directly to your hotel. I should return by 11pm so that we can both get enough sleep for tomorrow. If you aren’t terribly busy, I was considering doing some studying at Black Cottage on Sunday. I’ve quite a bit to do, but I would love your company. There still isn’t any furniture, but there’s always the lawn. I’ll make sure the floo is open all day. (Really, this could be standard. And I’ll just keep the floo open and let the Twins know you have access. You are always welcome to be there, regardless of whether or not I am, particularly if you need to get out of your hotel room, Ely, or your head. But I quite like the idea of studying for some portion of Sunday there with you. Shall I plan to have a picnic dinner ready for us this time, or will you take me out? And when are you going to take me to church? I have no desire to go regularly, I don’t think, but I certainly want to experience the orthodox church and unless I find it very difficult indeed I would like to perhaps go sporadically with you. Which reminds me - have you any interest in experiencing the Church of England? Let us discuss sometime soon all manner of religious thing. We have many things to decide.)_

_I’ve missed you. That’s an understatement, really. I realized I love you when I was standing in front of Elizabeth today, trying to send a message to Harry and my patronus manifested except it wasn’t an otter. It’s been an otter since I was fourteen, Viktor. Now it’s an ovcharka. And it made my thoughts spin and spin, and of course I couldn’t afford that just then, and_ _then_ _I accidentally made an Unbreakable Vow with Tampy, happily not one that will be remotely difficult to keep, but I can’t even blame it on realizing that I loved you. (Did you know about this? I learned last year that a person’s patronus can change when they fall in or out of love. Can, but not necessarily must. But it’s the only documented time that a patronus changes, I think, but then of course it does make one wonder what happens if someone falls out of love - I wasn’t thinking of us. I was thinking of Narcissa, actually. Not that I know she has, but she certainly chose to abandon her husband to his fate and save herself and her son instead and, well, sometimes my mind can be quite impertinent.) But it didn’t really sink in until we were all done and I returned Elizabeth and Charles from where I stole them away (rhetorically, you understand, I did not actually kidnap monarchs. I had their permission to transport them to Wales) and I could get back to Hogwarts. I mean, I walked through the streets of London in a sort of happy daze, but then I came home and saw your letter, and I started this one before I even read yours. And then I realized I should read yours, perhaps, because I have been following the news and I knew you must already be here and of course I wanted details. And then I thought of sending you a patronus, but what if you were with your team when you received it? And then I thought of all the things I might say, and I couldn’t come up with a single thing I’d want you to be teased about with your brand new teammates. So, no. I resisted._

_Oh, dear. I’m a bit scattered. And I have papers to write before I can join you for dinner, you beautiful man._

_I think I’m really going to like you taking me out for dinner. I hope you’ll invite me often._

_Oh, God, I’ve never wanted to do homework less than I want to do it now. And I’ve always quite enjoyed homework, so I suppose what I really mean to say is that it is an absolute agony knowing you are here and not being with you. But I must get these papers written, and as soon as possible so I can get ready and come and meet you. Expect me at six, or possibly before if I can manage it, if that’s alright. And if you haven’t figured out an entirely discreet nook where I may give you a proper goodnight kiss in all the right places, may I suggest Black Cottage? If only for a moment, it would be the perfect spot. And perhaps we will have longer than a moment._

_Longing to see you,  
_ _Hermione_

* * *

An hour later, Hermione was frantically writing at her desk in her study only to be shocked by the blindingly bright presence of a patronus. In the form of a gigantic, shaggy dog.

_“My luminous North Star, I am impatient to see your face, to hold your hand, to breathe your air. Do not make me wait too long.”_

And then it jumped through the wall.

Hermione’s mouth gaped gently open as she blinked and tried to process what the sound of his voice did to her. Happily Ginny, who was writing essays at the round table, came to the rescue.

“He _is_ a poet. Nice catch, Hermione. Don’t let that one go.”

“Ungh,” Hermione responded, somewhat mindlessly.

“Do you need a private moment?” Ginny asked.

“Oh, _God,_ why am I still here, and not there?” Hermione asked desperately.

“Because you have essays to write, and he understands that. And eloping is not your style.”

“Right, right, write.”

“Exactly,” Ginny said. “Why don’t you call for coffee and nibbles, put another solid 45 minutes in on your essays and then go take a quick bath. I’ll help you figure out your wardrobe and I’ll do your hair, if you want. And then you can show up at half six and send your patronus to fetch him.”

“It’s casual muggle. I’m wearing his jersey.”

“And I know what to pair with it,” Ginny said with a grin. “Coffee. Writing. Then I can bounce on your bed and plan your wedding.”

* * *

_“Where, oh, where is my Vitya? He needs wait no longer.”_

She sent the patronus, which shot directly up into the ceiling and then back down to her. Twenty seconds later she could see him walking down the grand staircase wearing a crisp white button down shirt tucked into a pair of dark denim jeans and a tweed sport coat thrown over one shoulder. His eyes found her immediately and she could see that somehow even though he moved calmly, he was still all coiled tension.

Oh, his _eyes._ Those sweet, dark eyes made her feel like they were already having sex.

“Good evening, Viktor,” she said quietly and offered her hand to him, palm down. She knew what he would do.

And he did. Viktor snapped his heels together and bowed over her hand, but the kiss he laid on it was lingering, and if she wasn’t mistaken, it wasn’t one kiss, it was three.

She smiled and kept his hand in hers even after he rose, and pulled him just a bit closer. 

“Are you eager for an early dinner tonight, or may I whisk you away for a more private hello?” Hermione asked very, very quietly. She so _desperately_ wanted to climb him like a tree and that was so _clearly_ not an option in his hotel lobby. Especially not now that they were on everyone’s radar screen.

“Take me where you want me,” Viktor quietly offered, his eyes dilated.

Hermione found herself panting slightly in response. The briefest of glances down below his belt assured her that he had _not,_ in his haste, applied the gentleman’s charm.

Which meant that he was probably game for being chained to her bed for the next thirty-six hours.

Not that she would. But it’s good to know these things.

“To Black Cottage, then,” she said, not meaning to be breathless, just trying to be quiet. She popped through the floo and cleaned herself, and then Viktor when he strode out. She shoved her wand back into her sleeve holster and threw herself at him. Her arms went around his neck and his around her waist, but quickly she hitched one leg as high up as she could get to his waist and groaned his name.

His hands slid down and supported her bottom, pulling her up and allowing her to wrap both legs firmly around him.

After a quite frank discussion with Ginny about the trials and tribulations of wearing jeans during heavy petting, and looking through her wardrobe for something that would be suitable, they regrettably settled on her school skirt from two years ago, before her last growth spurt, all two inches of it. Ginny had pointed out that it was likely already part of his fantasy life and that at least he would get to live that out with Hermione, now.

And so he did. He _growled_ as he pulled her closer and captured her mouth with his, and she whimpered in response. Their tongues tangled and she melted in his arms.

“This is your uniform skirt,” he said, breaking their kiss and panting, his stare so intent that if she couldn’t _feel_ just how very aroused he was, she might have been worried he was upset with her.

“Yes,” she said, holding his gaze and wondering exactly where he was going with this.

“Do you have any idea how many times I’ve wanted… How many fantasies where I-” He cut himself off, still panting, still staring into her eyes.

“Do any of them involve me dripping with desire for you and climbing you like a tree?”

“They do now,” he affirmed.

Hermione leaned in and laid her head on his shoulder, her mouth under his ear. “Do you lay me down on my bed upstairs and touch my bare legs to see what my skin feels like?”

“Oh, God, yes,” Viktor replied, walking toward the staircase.

“Do you push the skirt up all the way to see the color of my thighs contrasting with the color of my knickers?”

“Yes, yes, _Myon, yes,”_ Viktor agreed, halfway up the stairs and climbing.

“And what did seventeen year old Viktor want to do with his girlfriend in the back stacks of the library on a late Saturday night when no one was around?”

Viktor groaned and shuddered as he reached the top of the stairs and headed down the hall, letting her direct him with a gesture. “Such bad things. Such very bad things. His mother would have killed him, so he never did.”

“But he _thought_ about it, didn’t he? He _wanted_ it. Did he want to play ‘I’ll show you mine if you show me yours’?”

“Yes,” Viktor groaned, and it seemed to come from the depths of his being.

“Did he want to kiss her skin, everywhere?”

“ _Yes.”_

“Did he want to lick and bite and suck?”

“ _Yes!”_ He entered the room and sat on the edge of the bed, which was yet again, turned down. He held her tightly in one hand, and let the other one slide underneath her skirt, and then the first. His hands were on her bare bottom, the lace of her thong-style knickers not covering anything where he was. “Myon, oh, God, Myon, are you sure this is what you want? It would kill me if you regretted this later.”

Hermione reared back and looked him firmly in the eye. “I’ve decided,” and here she paused to take a deep breath, “that I want you.”

“For now?” he hedged.

“Forever, my North Star,” she clarified.

“You will marry me?” he asked, breathless.

“Yes,” she breathed.

“Oh, thank God,” he sighed out, panting with his eyes now closed. He murmured something in Bulgarian and Hermione had the idea that it might have been a prayer, though really she had no way of knowing. When he opened his eyes, they were a little clearer. “But we should wait until you have graduated,” he said in a reasonable tone.

Hermione threw her head back and whinged up to the ceiling. “Oh, for fuck’s sake! I’m going to be totally unfulfilled for the next eight months!”

And then her body was spun around. Viktor slammed her into the mattress, which was rather soft, as slams went, and paused on his hands and knees on top of her. “No,” he stated firmly. “We should wait to _marry_ until graduation. I only agree with what you wish. And if you come to me, here, every night until then, then every night I will make you cry out in love for me.”

“Ten o’clock,” she whispered. “Here.”

“Every night,” Viktor confirmed “And we will not invalidate our agreement that we do blood magic on our wedding night.”

“Agreed,” Hermione said.

“Tell me that you love me,” he said, staring at her very intently once more.

Hermione’s smile was a slow but inexorable thing. “Viktor, I… I-” and here her smile became blindingly bright. “I _love_ you,” she said, her voice full of wonder, because it was true.

Hermione had never seen a smile so wide on his face as the one he wore now. “You love me,” he said.

Hermione nodded. “I love you,” she agreed.

“Will you let me bring you such pleasure, my Myon?”

She smiled at him. “Yes.”

His hands were on the move as he sat back on his heels between her thighs, and he seemed to be watching the skirt’s progress as it slowly rose higher and higher. “Oh, God,” he breathed. “You are so beautiful,” he said, gasping quietly. “So many times… I imagined…” he whispered. “I would beg you to let me touch you,” he said, his fingertips running up and down the inside of her thighs.

She moaned and wriggled, but wanted to hear more. “And did I say yes?”

Viktor grinned, and it was a beautiful, saucy thing. His eyes flicked up to meet hers, then back down to her legs, where his thumbs were tracing paths up and down, up and down. “Sometimes no. Sometimes yes. Sometimes please, Viktor, please.”

“Please, Viktor,” Hermione asked, with as much quiet intensity as she could. “Please.”

And he did touch her, more and more. His hands went softly under her skirt, all fingertips and palms, and Hermione could feel the heat and the hardness of his hands on her skin, and it was as intoxicating as his kisses, perhaps even moreso.

“In my dreams,” he whispered, “and my fantasies, only lately have you worn these boots,” he said, his fingers tracing back to her knees, briefly. “I find them _profoundly_ moving, especially when you wear not much else. When you were younger, you did not wear such boots. Now you are woman, my woman, and I want to devour you in them.”

Hermione smirked. “Big words, Viktor. What measure of this fantasy are you going to live out tonight? Or have you already?”

He cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. “You taunt me because you are impatient. But I have not found that impatience leads to success. Shall I give you a lesson in patience, my little student?”

Hermione did her best to look demure. She wasn’t sure it worked, given where his hands were, and where he was kneeling. “Yes, please, Mr. Krum. Do I have everything I need for my lesson?”

“Mm,” he replied, somewhere between a sensuous moan and a sexual groan. “Too many clothes,” he said, his hands raising her skirt, dragging his skin against hers as he slowly moved it up, up, up and out of the way. He gasped slightly as he saw the bright red lace thong that covered her.

It was Hermione’s turn to gasp as he rubbed one knuckle up and down, up and down the front of her knickers.

“You know, Vratsa’s colors were red, but a very dull red. As you see on your shirt. But Ely’s colors are a very bright red. The red of blood, and lust, and fire. The red of these.”

Hermione gasped as Viktor leaned in and _licked_ the knickers. He leaned back and his eyes narrowed. “I can _taste_ you,” he growled.

“And? Good, bad, indifferent?”

“ _I want more,”_ he snarled.

Hermione kept on gasping as Viktor leaned down, folded over on his legs, with his hands still only lightly touching her legs, he reached and licked her leg this time, right where the seam of her bright red knickers left off.

He kept her writhing on the bed, licking, touching, biting, all over her thighs and hips and mons, though consistently though the lace. Distantly she understood what he meant by patience. Drawing this out was exquisite, beautiful, almost painful but not exactly painful. Before she might have used hyperbole and called it torture, but certainly not now. Having experienced it, she would only compare it with things it ought to be compared with, like other rounds of actual torture.

But this was not what her mind was consumed with. Her mind was consumed with Viktor and eight months of lessons in patience, and how delicious they might end up being. Tentatively she reached her hand out and ran her fingers through his hair, touching him lightly and following his movements. She wondered just how much they could do before they infringed on the acts they wished to dedicate first time use to the blood magic ritual.

Possibly there was a book on this. Possibly, there were many. Certainly, she needed to read them all.

“Where did you learn how to do this, Viktor?” Hermione gasped.

“You like?” he asked.

“I love. Where?”

“A book,” he responded before returning to the use his mouth had been engaged in before.

_She knew it!_

“I think I need to read that book,” she stated breathlessly and ended on a groan as he began to combine biting _with_ sucking.

Finally he responded. “ _A Witch and Her Orgasm?”_ he asked.

Hermione laughed despite herself. “Did you and your friends come across that book and think it was about something else?”

He chuckled against her leg. “Yes. Yes, we did. Was best mistake we ever, ever made. Who knew women were such complicated creatures?”

“Oh, please. Women are totally reasonable and logical and men are entirely incomprehensible.”

He looked up at her with hooded eyes. “Am I incomprehensible to you, Myon? Can you not tell what motivates me, now?” He continued to stare at her, his thumbs rubbing around and around just where they had stopped.

* * *

...chapter to be continued...


	17. Chapter 14, Part 2 of 2: Wherein Hermione's patronus changes.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...the chapter continues, and finishes!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be prepared for more vigorous swooning, friends.

“I think I need to read that book,” she stated breathlessly and ended on a groan as he began to combine biting  _ with  _ sucking.

Finally he responded. _“_ __A Witch and Her Orgasm?”_ _ he asked.

Hermione laughed despite herself. “Did you and your friends come across that book and think it was about something else?”

He chuckled against her leg. “Yes. Yes, we did. Was best mistake we ever, ever made. Who knew women were such complicated creatures?”

“Oh, please. Women are totally reasonable and logical and men are entirely incomprehensible.”

He looked up at her with hooded eyes. “Am I incomprehensible to you, Myon? Can you not tell what motivates me, now?” He continued to stare at her, his thumbs rubbing around and around just where they had stopped.

Hermione swallowed hard. “No. I think, I think perhaps I understand you a bit better than any other man.”

“Only a bit?”

Hermione cleared her throat. “Well, I couldn’t claim to know you entirely. But I think I know enough to go on. But women are not so very complicated. Not compared to men.”

Viktor raised his eyebrow.

“No, really!” Hermione protested.

Viktor raised both eyebrows.

“Myon, do you have any idea how quickly I can be ready to have sex with you, how quickly I can be ready to actually reach orgasm, after not being at all aroused?”

Hermione quietly wondered if it was somewhere around ten minutes. It probably took her a half hour, not that she was regularly  _ not  _ aroused. She was usually at least  _ somewhat  _ aroused these days. And when she was it took her about ten minutes to bring herself off in the bath. Regardless, she decided not to guess. She only raised her own eyebrow and waited.

“Twenty seconds, Myon. I think of you, a thought, an image, a word, the memory of your voice moaning my name, the feel of your body beneath mine, and in ten seconds I could have sex with you, if I not have charm. In ten more seconds I could come, if I try. Now, I have dreams of spending all night long making love with you, so obviously ten seconds is not good. Men are complicated when it comes to  _ not _ having orgasm. Women are complicated when it comes to  _ having  _ orgasm.”

Hermione just stared. “You must be joking.”

“Hermione,” he stated plainly. “I have my head between your thighs. This is a time, I think, for great honesty between us. Twenty seconds. Ten and ten. It has happened before.”

“When?” she demanded.

His head dropped to her left thigh and he sighed. “The first time I see you. The second time I see you. The third, fourth, fifth, and sixth time I see you. Would you like me to be explicit in my humiliation? I was seventeen. Unfortunately at twenty-one, I have not had more experience, nor good reason for drawing out the agony of wanting to be with you, wanting to taste you and rub your skin across mine. I have had no reason to desensitize or gain stamina. For what would I use it? Only in the last week have I considered it seriously, but the memory of you was so strong, so fresh, all I had to do was touch myself and think of your name and I was gone. Which I did. Frequently.”

“Then what is giving you stamina now?”

He looked up and smiled slightly. “I am thinking of your pleasure and not mine. It takes some pressure away, while still being delicious. I am focusing on listening and learning what you like and what makes you moan. I am learning how to read and speak the language called Myon.”

Hermione’s eyes were wide and her breath was coming quicker by the time he finished speaking. “My God, Viktor. Do you have any idea how beautifully poetic your words are?”

He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes.

“Do you,” she continued, “have any idea what they  _ do  _ to me? I don’t suppose you’d be willing to try your hand at  _ actual  _ love poetry, would you? Something I could memorize and repeat over and over to myself, hearing your voice in my head and across my skin, while I come so hard I have to muffle my screams in my pillows?”

“I crave your touch,” he said, shifting himself up and crawling slowly closer until he was on his hands and knees hovering over her, but only their thighs were touching, and only barely. “Repeat,” he ordered, his face hovering over hers.

“What?” she asked, blinking.

“How will you memorize if you do not repeat? Repeat.  _ I crave your touch.” _

“I crave your touch,” she repeated softly, and when she did it became both his sentiment and hers as well.

“When others say your name,” he said, pausing. Waiting.

“When others say your name,” she said, suddenly feeling it keenly, as his name was often said around her.

“It is an agony because you are not there,” he said.

“It is an agony because you are not there,” she repeated, and felt it so intensely her voice wavered.

“The press of your fingers on my arm,” he said, his eyes softening.

“The press of your fingers on my arm,” she repeated, and remembered time after time when he would take her hand and put it in the crook of his arm. And her fingers always reflexively  _ pressed _ .

“Makes my heart pound and my blood race,” he said softly.

“Makes my heart pound and my blood race,” she repeated, beginning to realize that he really was deeply attracted to her in every way.

“The memory of your smile,” he said, smiling.

“The memory of your smile,” she repeated, her heart becoming lighter.

“Makes me want to achieve all things, do all things, be all things,” he said, explaining even more with his eyes.

“Makes me want to achieve all things, do all things, be all things,” she repeated, deeply moved.

“And then lay them all at your feet, a gift,” he said.

“And then lay them all at your feet, a gift,” she repeated, thinking that it put the diamonds and the broomstick in proper perspective.

“When you say you are mine, I am ashamed,” he said.

“When you say you are mine, I am ashamed?” she repeated, and turned it into a question.

“Because all I want is to claim your body as you have claimed my heart,” he said in explanation.

“Because all I want is to claim your body as you have claimed my heart,” she said, her eyes wider.

“To kiss your skin and know it,” he said.

“To kiss your skin and know it,” she agreed.

“To meet your tongue and tease it,” he said.

“To meet your tongue and tease it,” she agreed.

“To sheathe myself in your body,” he said, his voice dark and low.

“To sheathe myself in your body,” she replied in a tone of wonder.

“And claim you as my home,” he finished.

“And claim you as my home,” she said, shivering.

He kissed her then and she whimpered and her hands touched all the parts of him that she could reach easily, his back, his shoulders, his biceps, his face.

Viktor broke the kiss and looked at her squarely. “Again.”

They repeated it again, one after another, but with longer lines this time. And then a third time, repeating multiple lines at once. Finally he nodded in his satisfaction and said, “Now, we say together.”

Hermione took a deep breath and nodded. The second time it was easier because she wasn’t surprised by what he was saying, and the third time she closed her eyes so she could better concentrate. This time, she didn’t just want to be memorizing. She wanted to speak his beautiful poetry to him and let him know that she meant it, too.

He began, and spoke at the same gentle cadence she had gotten used to, and she joined in, immediately.

“I crave your touch. When others say your name, it is an agony because you are not here. The press of your fingers on my arm makes my heart pound and my blood race. The memory of your smile makes me want to achieve all things, do all things, be all things, and then lay them all at your feet, a gift. When you say you are mine, I am ashamed, because all I want is to claim your body as you have claimed my heart; to kiss your skin and know it, to meet your tongue and tease it, to sheath myself in your body and claim you as my home.”

He kissed her gently. “Now I am inside of you, as you have been inside of me.”

“Oh, Viktor. You were already there.” She reached behind his neck and pulled him down into a sweet kiss and then twisted away. He continued his kisses, laying tiny ones all over the side of her face. “You know, I think I was quite in love with you when we dated before, only I thought it was a crush, you know, something that is quite intense, but passes quickly. And of course Tom was actively trying to kill Harry, might have killed you and Fleur,  _ did  _ kill Cedric-”

Here Viktor muttered something in Bulgarian. Again, Hermione imagined it was a prayer for Cedric’s soul, but really, she had no way of knowing. 

“-and then you had to leave, back to Durmstrang, back to Bulgaria, back to Quidditch, and you seemed so far away, so disconnected with my life and the war, and I just… I let it go. And I feel dreadful about it, because here you were, loving me all the time, having so much more faith in me than I had in you.”

“Stop,” he ordered. “I see now that no one had faith in you, while many people had faith in me, so this is okay. And war changes everything, so this is okay. And for the rest, you are my delightful contradiction, and I will be prepared for this in the future.”

“What do you mean?” Hermione asked, still not looking at him, but largely because now he was kissing her neck in between his words.

“If a thing is impossible, you quietly accomplish it. If a thing is difficult, you work hard and concentrate, and with much effort you manage it. If a thing is maybe just a little bit complicated you look at it with horror, but maybe try. And if a thing is easy, you give it up as a bad job before you even try. But I can work with this.”

Hermione wanted to argue, but the more she considered his words, the more she realized it was possible that Viktor had an extremely small point.

“I suppose my original point,” she said, ignoring his words for just a moment, as well as his extremely small but well made point, “was that when I was fifteen, I fell in love with you, just as you were, and the affection and attention that you paid me was a purely joyful highlight of my school years, and really, there were no other highlights that were not somehow tainted by death and destruction. And my relationship with you, as it was then, well, it might have been, tainted, I mean, but it wasn’t, somehow, in my mind. And even though I had myself convinced that it could never go anywhere, you already had a place in my heart, and I think every potential boyfriend after that got compared to you, and was found lacking.”

“Even Ron?” he asked, darkly.

“Oh, especially Ron. Please,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I’ll eviscerate his character for you another time. Don’t distract me. Now, where was I?”

“Every man you met paled compared to me,” Viktor offered, his voice full of his satisfaction at the thought.

Her lips quirked in a smile. “Right. And so after the war when I got your letter, I was content to be friends with you, partly because I thought it would be a rare thing to be in the same room with you. And I’ve certainly always valued our friendship. And you know, the horcrux, it had convinced me that you would never want to speak to me again, only I didn’t realize until later that that was the horcrux because it just seemed so reasonable at the time. And from your first letter, it seemed like... to be very good friends, that was what you wanted, too. And… then you sent your second letter. And I was very confused. I… oh, God, I feel so stupid. I didn’t really  _ understand _ at first. And there were other things I was supposed to be thinking about… Ron had also shown interest, but that didn’t feel, well, quite right I suppose… and, well, don’t be mad. But at the end of August, the night I finally wrote back to you, actually, I, ah, showed your letter to Harry and Ginny, and… they translated it line by line for me. And knowing I hadn’t written you back yet, they yelled a lot. In that way good friends do when you’ve been an idiot.”

Viktor broke out into a grin and silent chuckles and quietly kissed her on the forehead, still listening to her story.

“And then our  _ letters _ , I mean, sexual content aside, it was just as beautiful as it’s always been between us, and I felt so close to you again, and you helped me so much… when I was feeling down. And you know, I think Luna was right. I was falling in love with you again and so afraid to acknowledge it. And then of course there was all the Pendragon stuff, and honestly, I didn’t want some rabid fan, or detractor of either one of us knowing how worried I was, whether or not I would do a good job.

“But the idea of seeing you again, getting to talk to you about this and everything else, I was just so  _ happy  _ about that prospect _.  _ And I didn’t really examine why I was happy. I was too busy not knowing what I wanted for the future to think about how I felt in the present. And I think I would have been scared to, if someone had suggested it. And this is… you know, aside from sex and hopes of having it frequently with you, and terrified hysterics about having it at all. I just… wanted to be with  _ you. _

“And then I saw you again, and you were so different. I mean, your picture in the papers was a hint, as well as that bloody wonderful French magazine. But you were so  _ confident.  _ Graceful and eloquent, your English was excellent and I could see the deeply thoughtful man who had written to me, instead of the boy I had fallen in love with. You were attractive before, handsome, but it’s like you’ve grown into your body now, just as you’ve grown into your… I don’t know, sense of self.”

She paused here, and he filled the silence. “If I was attractive and handsome before, then what am I now?” he asked.

Hermione closed her eyes and moaned. “Ungh.” She shifted beneath him, rubbing her thighs against his. 

“Words, Hermione,” he said, and she could feel his smirk in his tone.

Her eyes opened and flashed fire. “You are the most deeply attractive man I have ever had the pleasure to know. You are a walking, talking advertisement for sex and sensuality. Bodies aren’t everything, but thanks to your sport, it’s possible you’re in peak condition, though to be honest, I can’t wait to see you without your shirt on. In person. Just to verify, you understand. But it’s more than just muscles and grace. Something inside of you shines out. Your intelligence. Your confidence. This strange but powerful sense of both knowing and presence. And it’s like you’ve reached inside of me, wrapped your fist around my heart and my soul and my hormones, and you’ve held on tight and jerked everything toward you. And I can’t get away. And I don’t want to.”

Viktor’s smile was a slow thing that bloomed crookedly across his face. “Yes,” he confirmed. “That is what it is like. That is what finding your North Star is like.”

Hermione sighed and smiled in relief. “Yes,” she said, realizing it was true. “It is, isn’t it?”

Their kiss was sweet, a comfort and a relief and without so much passion as before. It was still a beautiful kiss, however.

“You will wear my ring, now?” Viktor asked. “To mark our engagement?”

Hermione nodded, and as he shifted all his upper weight onto one arm to reach into his trousers pocket, Hermione asked, “We should make an announcement. Would your parents be willing to do that in Bulgaria for us, and would you be okay letting Narcissa handle it here in Britain?”

“Yes. Is good. Mama will do it in proper way. Narcissa will, too, I imagine.”

“Yes, I’m sure she will. I do want you two to meet. I hope you get along.”

“The Countess of Black sounds like a very proper lady, so if she does not like me, neither of us will ever find out about it. But will your parents like me, do you think?”

“My mother will love you immediately. My father will love you, eventually. I really hope they can be there. At our wedding. But I don’t want to delay the ceremony. And what about your parents? Do you think they’ll like me? It’s been a long time since we last met.”

“Bah. My parents already love you. They see how much you mean to me. They have heard much about you.”

“I do want to have dinner with them. When was that, the third?”

He nodded. “Good. I will arrange it. We will be with them a few hours, no more. You have your studies.”

“And we have our ten o’clock appointment,” she said with a smile.

“Mm,” he replied. “Marry me the weekend after you graduate?” He asked, placing a small box between her breasts. 

Hermione nodded and wriggled her arms back underneath him and opened the box.

Yup. It matched the earrings more than it matched the bracelet. Hermione looked up at him askance. “Viktor. This is a huge diamond.”

He lifted a single eyebrow. “You know how much I earn. I promise, I am saving, too.”

“You’d better be,” Hermione warned, but took out the diamond engagement ring and grinned at it. It was ridiculous. It was ostentatious. It was gigantic. It was heavy.  _ It was hers. _

“Size of diamonds is to counterbalance other things you wear.”

“What other things?” Hermione demanded. Her clothes?

“Crown. Torc. Signet rings.”

“Oh, right,” she admitted softly. She slipped the ring onto the appropriate finger, next to her Black signet ring and heard the soft clink as the two touched. The ring momentarily tightened then relaxed on her finger, and then was perfectly fitted. Hermione tried not to too obviously admire the ring on her finger.

“Have one more gift, tonight.”

“Another? Do I need anything else?”

“Yes,” he said calmly. “Another. And yes, you do need this. You want it now, or after dinner?”

“Now,” Hermione said with a small grin. Getting presents just recently had been quite fun. And she couldn’t seem to stop him, so she might as well enjoy it, really.

He pulled out another box, this was a bit larger, but rather flat. When she opened it up she gasped a little bit, because the first thing that hit her was that it was  _ a watch.  _ And if he was giving it to her, it would thoroughly work in the wizarding world.

She picked it up and looked at it.

“It will adjust to the correct time wherever you go,” he offered.

Hermione wondered if it would automatically adjust to time turner use. Well, she would find out soon.

The watch face wasn’t some tiny thing meant for ladies to squint at. It was decently sized and beautifully elegant. It wasn’t attached to a band, so much as a gold bracelet made up of little loops, some of which were fitted with rather small diamonds, compared to the rest of the ones she wore. She put it on her left wrist, with her tennis bracelet, and the watch bracelet tightened up imperceptibly so it wouldn’t fall off.

Hermione wiggled some more to wrap her arms around Viktor’s neck and hold tight. “Thank you,” she said. “It’s exactly what I needed.”

“They are both exactly what you needed,” he corrected with a knowing look.

Hermione laughed and admitted that he was correct. “So,” she said, grinning. “Should we finish what we started, or should we just go to dinner and come back afterwards? I have a present for you, sort of. It stays with me, but we can use it together, and I’ll only show it to you here, after dinner,” she said, thinking of the time turner that was hidden underneath his jersey. He might have discovered it if his hands had wandered past her waist, but they hadn’t.

“In that case,” he decided. “Let us go to dinner, Miss Granger Black Pendragon.”

“Alright, Mr. Krum. Do you have a middle name?” she asked as he rolled off of her and she rose to straighten her skirt and her shirt. She walked over to the dressing table and sat down because she really needed to completely rebraid her hair at this point. Wriggling around on a bed did nothing good for it.

“Cyril. After my patron saint. Sts. Cyril and Methodius are the ones who created Cyrillic alphabet using Hebrew, Greek, and Latin letters and sounds. And you? You have middle name?”

“Yes, but nothing so exciting as yours. Jean. After my grandmother. She’s French.”

“She is still alive?” Viktor asked, rearranging himself behind her and casting his charm before putting on his jacket.

“Yes, she’s the family I have in Provence. I haven’t talked to her since, since I made my parents forget. I didn’t make them forget her, but they do believe their names are something different, and that other things were just more important. But I haven’t been able to face Granmere.”

“You will write to her and explain, in general terms. You must, Hermione. I will stay with you while you do it, if you wish.”

Hermione nodded slightly, still working on the braid. “Tomorrow?” she asked.

“Tomorrow,” he agreed.

“And you will write special letter to your parents that they may read when they first get their memories back, unless you have already done such a thing?”

“Well, I write to them all the time, I have done since they left, but no, I haven’t written that letter.”

“If you plan not to be present when they remember, you must provide a letter,” he insisted.

“Yes. I see your point. I’ll do that tomorrow as well. Since we’ll be alone, you may as well just expect me to cry on you. I’m sorry, but I know it will happen,” she said, finishing her braid and staring at him in the mirror.

He took a step closer and put his hands on her shoulders. “Yes. You must cry. You must let it go. And I will hold you while you do. I will be your anchor so you are not pulled away by your grief. This is the right thing.”

She closed her eyes and sighed, putting one hand over his on her shoulder. “Thank you, Viktor.”

They went back through the floo and walked quietly and unmolested through the Ely wizarding quarter and out the other side. They passed several pubs, both trendy and seedy, and as they turned a corner, Hermione’s senses were assaulted by a very large, very ugly concrete building with a horrendously garish sign.

“That is Inferi Hell,” he said, pointing ahead to the building and the sign. “Muggles see warehouse, only. Is indoor stadium, but there are many extension charms, and many floo, portkey, and aparation zones inside, so crowds do not form outside.”

“Is it easier to find the snitch in an indoor stadium?”

Viktor snorted. “No. Technique is different. But if it was easier, they would not be allowed.”

“Are you looking forward to the switch?”

Viktor made a little dismissive gesture with his free hand. “Meh. They are a good team. I am sure it will be a good fit, given time. And I think I have taken the best option. I had many choices, so that was a luxury to be able to bring to negotiation. I got everything I wanted,” he said, squeezing her hand gently and guiding her to a little Thai restaurant off to the left.

“This is okay? Or do you prefer somewhere else?” he asked.

Hermione grinned at him. “This is perfect.”

Once they were seated at a small table and had ordered, he laid his hands palm up on the flat surface and she gently put her hands in his.

“So, all your games are on Saturdays, right? Will you invite me to one? If not the first?”

“Yes, Saturdays, except post season and pre season. You would come?” he asked, his tone just a shade dubious.

“Of course. I watched you in the World Cup.”

“And will you bring a book?” he asked, still dubious.

“Of course. I can only watch you for so long before I need a distraction.”

Viktor chuckled lowly and then proceeded to explain about the families box at the home stadium, and how he could have three guests at a time, regularly, without asking for special permission for more. He explained how players often let other players borrow their guest passes if they had no one coming, and so usually everyone could be accomodated. 

“So if you invite me to a game, would you mind if I brought Harry and Ginny?”

He said it was fine, and then explained that the passes were portkeys that only worked on game day, and only one way, into the stadium, but that they would be able to go directly to the VIP portkey room on the box level.

“I like their organization. Perhaps due to my questions about the coronation, I’m fascinated by the idea of large-scale crowd control.”

They continued to discuss various ways and means, and what Hermione had noticed about the organization of the World Cup as their dinner was served.

Viktor had ordered raw beef pho off the Vietnamese portion of the menu and Hermione had ordered a red peanut curry with tofu.

“When will you introduce me to Narcissa?”

Hermione thought of her calendar, and wondered why she didn’t just bring her date book around with her. It was silly. At this point she really should. “Next weekend? On the third? Could you do a Sunday morning breakfast?”

“Yes. Sunday morning is better. While I would meet on a Saturday night with you, I would not wish to make plans with others. Defeats are hard, and they happen despite our best efforts, and I am rarely in the mood to be sociable with others. Except you.”

Hermione smiled. “It’s because I fixed your nose, isn’t it? You looked absolutely crushed, and your nose actually was, you poor thing.”

“Yes,” he said. “Obviously that, and no other reason,” he added, his eyes dark slits that made her heart pound.

She smiled at him and reapplied herself to the use of chopsticks. They decided on a reasonable breakfast venue, an elegant wizarding place in Ely that the manager had recommended to him when Viktor had asked about various restaurants. When Hermione asked him what his plans were after the three months grace period the team offered with the hotel, he shrugged.

“Three months is end of December, just after Western Christmas, and we are in post season, then. You have coronation, and my parents will be here for that, and I would like to spend some time with you and them until you go back to school in January. Then it is only five months until we marry. It does not make sense for me to take an apartment, and I know very few cooking spells. Probably, I keep this hotel room until then.”

Hermione nodded, and refrained from mentioning Harry’s plan. It was Harry’s after all, and they hadn’t discussed it with Narcissa yet.

“I don’t have all the details yet, but once the coronation occurs, the castle will be open, and there will be elves and all the rest,” Hermione said quietly. “I would like to offer your parents hospitality for as long as they would like to visit this winter, and I would love it if you would come and stay, too, at least while I’m on vacation, but preferably all the while your parents are here.”

“But will I stay in the blue suite?” he asked, his eyes teasing.

“We’re adults,” Hermione said loftily. “I don’t see why you shouldn’t.”

He grinned and they ate in quiet for a bit.

“How was your meeting with, what was her name? In the lake?”

“Gelwyn, Chief of the Love. Yes. Well. Excellent in many respects. But there is a reason I am eating tofu this evening.” Hermione shuddered and shifted her mind. Killing a fish and eating it directly wasn’t so bad while she was doing it, and she was fairly certain that was the gillyweed. But afterwards, when both doses had worn off?

There was much vomiting on the shore, and not just her own. Only Luna seemed to be able to keep her stomach intact.

“They let me record the conversation, and Luna was ready with a waterproof set up, and she’s already given me a copy of the dictation. It took a bit of prodding, but eventually Gelwyn walked me through the ritual of me taking the Seat, which  _ is  _ one of the standing stones, and apparently her people have always been the keeper of the rituals, and I actually had a thought about that I wanted to share with you. It’s a blood ritual, of course-” here Viktor’s interest was clearly captured “-and I was wondering, given that her people were ancient keepers of this ritual, and have no speaking voice, only a singing voice, if…”

Hermione trailed off, but Viktor was there.

“If perhaps,” he whispered in awe, “blood magic  _ started  _ with merfolk.”

Hermione did a sort of half shrug, half nod while eating more tofu.

“She didn’t want to tell me at first, because she just has to guide everyone through - no one’s actually enacted this one since Maria did at the beginning of her regency, and only the merfolk keep this lore, but I really didn’t want to be surprised, you know? And since it was blood magic, one of the things my tutor has hammered into my head is unintended consequences.”

Viktor rolled his eyes and muttered, “Not if you know what you’re doing.”

“Well I think it’s obvious that I don’t, so it’s very likely that there might be unintended consequences. It’s not like this is a well researched and clearly laid out ritual that has been thoroughly examined and case studied with a full arithmancy calculation.  _ And  _ it takes place over a crossing of four lay lines in the midst of eight standing stones.  _ And  _ it takes place with four different sentient  _ species _ participating.” She almost ended her rhetorical argument with the phrase, “riddle me that, Batman,” but refrained.

“This is  _ fascinating,  _ Myon,” Viktor said, his spoon hanging halfway between his bowl and his face, almost entirely forgotten. “And the standing stones play a part?”

“Blood on the stones,” she confirmed, then took a bite.

“And the ley lines are activated?” he asked, putting his spoon back down in his bowl.

“I don’t see how they can’t be, but I’m not sharing any of this information with that tutor. I trust him less far than I could throw him.”

Viktor nodded, staring out, past her and into his own mind, perhaps.

“And there are four participants? One from each species?” he asked quietly.

Hermione shook her head. “Eight. Two from each. Female and male. Mates, you know. Though I think the important bit is the mates, not the gender. So, I’ll be asking you to do this with me, but I didn’t think you’d mind.”

Viktor nodded, looking suddenly pensive.

“Do the mates share blood?” he asked.

“It is mixed, yes, but only the mates. Then it goes on their stones.”

“And… the mates are on the same ley line?” he asked, clearly thinking very hard with a rather worrisome expression on his face.

“Yes, how did you guess?” Hermione asked, starting to get concerned.

“Did Gelwyn mention anything at all,  _ in any way _ , about this strengthening the bond between the mates?”

“Yes, she did. I thought it was a lovely idea.”

Viktor clenched his eyes shut and dropped his head to his chest, just momentarily as he grunted. “Mm. Myon.”

“What am I missing?” Hermione asked very carefully.

Viktor looked up at her, put his elbows on the table and leaned in.“Did you  _ specifically _ tell Gelwyn that you were being courted, but not yet handfasted?”

“I might have glossed over that.”

Viktor gave her a look.

Hermione defended herself. “I knew last night that I was… falling in love with you, and I… didn’t think it would be a problem.”

Viktor blinked slowly. He reached a hand out to her and she put hers in it. “Is not a problem. And I will happily do this ritual with you. And we will be married because of it.”

Hermione jaw gaped ever so slightly. “Oh,” she eventually said.

“If we want handfasting, perhaps we should do it earlier in the day.” He squeezed her hand, and she squeezed back.

“That… seems… like a good idea to me.”

Viktor squeezed her hand once more and let go, returning to his dinner. “Blood magic has deep consequences, to everyone who participates and to every _ thing _ that is included. This is why it is favored for long-term projects, or very deep work. The blood always remembers, and it affects  _ everything  _ it touches.”

“So I see. I think I should make both you and my tutor a copy of this ritual and have you look it over so we can try to map out the largest picture possible.”

“Yes, please,” Viktor responded.

“So, I guess we’re not getting married after I graduate.”

Viktor grinned. “Three months and one week away. I think I can live with this.”

“Are you going to start a countdown of the days?”

“97.”

Hermione put her chopsticks down and put her face in her hands. “Oh, how do you feel about living at Hogwarts? I have a rather expansive suite, and I’m sure it could get larger.”

“I think I prefer not to take meals in the Great Hall.”

“And I would prefer to eat what meals you’re around for in our suite, so that’s fine.”

He nodded. “You have said you have a floo connection from your study?”

Hermione agreed that there was.

“There will be guidelines,” Hermione said, “that we have to abide by for me as a student resident in the castle, but I’ve read through Harry and Ginny’s copy. It’s really to prevent the married students from being rude in the hallways, and it’s just the same code of conduct that married staff have to abide by.”

“Not a problem, then,” he agreed.

“What is your regular training schedule like, during the week?”

“Well, it used to be that I get up at five, go for run, eat breakfast, training starts at eight, goes to six, I take a shower and go home, eat dinner immediately, though I admit that lately I have been fantasizing about Roman Bath at New Palace. The cold pool, then the hot pool, then the steam room? Mm. I am really looking forward to that. But Inferi, they only train from nine to five. Very strange.”

Hermione grinned at him. “What about in the off season?”

“Off-season we go into low training. We can each take four weeks off whenever we need to, all at once is okay, too, but otherwise we train from eight to one, well, I used to, for Inferi it is nine to noon, and sometimes play exhibition games in afternoon, no more than one every two weeks, and sometimes not even that. But even when I take time off, I still have to keep up some level of training. Maybe just… ninety minutes? Running, weight training, flying. Or else coming back is  _ so  _ painful.”

“I was… thinking of installing a quidditch pitch on the Great Lawn,” Hermione mentioned nonchalantly.

“Really?” Viktor asked, apparently stunned.

Hermione nodded solemnly. “The coronation will be a three-day festival, with the actual rituals on the first sundown. And among other things, I’d really like there to be some exhibition matches.”

“I will play for you,” Viktor said immediately.

“Not on our wedding day, I hope. That leaves the day after, or the day after that. So… would you be playing as Krum… or as Pendragon?” Hermione asked, strangely nervous about his response.

Viktor smiled slowly. “Pendragon.”

* * *

Over the course of dessert and the walk back to the floo in his hotel, Hermione and Viktor talked about church, blessings of their upcoming union, baptising future children and the possibility of royal godparents, when to tell people about the engagement how to tell people, and the fact that Hermione wouldn’t wear her engagement ring outside of her suite until the announcement appeared in the papers on Monday, and finally a brief delve into the history of electricity.

Once they had cleaned off all the soot, Viktor took Hermione in his arms and requested his present. She smiled, and pulled both sides of the larger chain around her neck so that she could pull the pendant out of her shirt.

“Let’s see what you make of this. Handle it carefully,” she warned.

He held the small golden gyroscope in his hands. “It is beautiful,” he said, inspecting it carefully. “Very finely made. Extremely magical. And I guess it does not tell you the time. Is this…”

“Take a guess,” Hermione prompted.

Viktor didn’t, but gave Hermione a hard look, apparently skipping right over the guessing portion to the knowing portion. “Were did you get such a thing?”

“The British Ministry of Magic had heaps of them, but most were destroyed during the war. But I was issued one during my third year, just so I could take more classes.”

Viktor closed his eyes and dropped his head on her shoulder. “Oh, dear God. I neither like nor trust your ministry.”

“Yes, well, neither do I. But I reasoned that while all the ones in the hall of time were destroyed, there were very likely some not at home, as it were. So I pulled rank and demanded one. And the Minister of Magic gave me  _ this  _ for my birthday. It’s not a good idea to add more than about five hours a day, regularly, in an emergency ten, and I’d really thought to use it to be able to work longer hours and get extra sleep this year, and for emergencies thereafter, but I definitely wanted you to know about the fact that I can, selectively, be in two places at once…”

“And?” Viktor prompted, warily, looking at her again.

“Well, I certainly don’t want to make you do anything you’re not comfortable with, and I don’t want to mess up your training schedule, but if you’d  _ like  _ to have a few extra hours with me, or to sleep, that could be arranged.”

Viktor’s head lolled back on his neck until he could probably see the ceiling, if his eyes were open. “Myon,” he began, his voice something like a groan, “are you suggesting we create time loops just to have more opportunity to have sex?”

“Yes?” Hermione replied somewhat timidly. Had she totally misread the situation?

Viktor’s chest heaved silently for a moment before she heard the soft laughter. “Well, I do not say this is good plan, but I like it.”

“Well, then. Shall we see if my new watch can keep up with a time turner?” Hermione asked, looking at said watch to see exactly what time it was. It was half past nine, and so they had ninety minutes anyway. She looped the extra length of chain around his neck and gave her personal, magical time machine a single twist on the side, then let it spin. Viktor was looking at it at this point. When they were moved back an hour, she took the chain from around his neck and tucked the time turner back underneath his jersey. Then she checked her watch. Half past eight.

“Good choice on the watch, Viktor. It keeps excellent time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this is my favorite chapter of the early ones. And this is my favorite line:
> 
> “Hermione,” he stated plainly. “I have my head between your thighs. This is a time, I think, for great honesty between us."


	18. Chapter 15: Wherein an engagement is announced.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just as it seems to be.

_ September 26, 199_  
_ _ Hogwarts Castle _

_ Dear Narcissa, _

_ I am pleased to tell you that I have agreed to marry Viktor. Would you be willing to send an appropriate announcement to whichever newspaper you wish? _

_ We had fully intended to marry the weekend after graduation, until I described in detail the ritual Gelwyn related to us, as Viktor intends to pursue a mastery in blood magic. Viktor pointed out that the ritual would marry us, if we weren’t already. So saying we have decided to move up the handfasting ceremony, and considered either earlier in the day, or earlier in the week - a small, private ceremony with family and friends, except that Elizabeth has also informed me she expects to attend, which is why earlier in the day so appeals to me; she will already be present and there will be no need to smuggle a monarch away. _

_ I know it’s one thing after another, and I do apologize for that. On the bright side, they’re all delightful developments and death and destruction seem to be quite far away from any of them. So there is that. And I have never wished to live a boring life. It seems I never will. _

_ We also need to have a brief conversation with Minerva concerning living arrangements after Christmas break, but as that is academically related, I shall endeavor to have that one on my own. As Viktor has no wish to take meals in the Great Hall, and there is now a floo connection, I do not see that it will be too much of a problem. _

_ By the bye, do you wish to be present when I attempt blood magic in the vault? I’m bringing Grims, my tutor who has been invaluable, and the Twins. I should be ready to make the attempt on the morning of the 2nd, and my tutor has made himself available, and it’s possible that I’ll be on better terms with Grims by that point, as well. _

_ Did you have any idea how easy it is to accidentally enter into a fully binding Unbreakable Vow with a house elf? I tell you, I will write a book or eight once this is all through.  _

_ Fondly,  
_ _ Hermione _

* * *

_ September 26, 199_  
_ _ Malfoi Burgundy Fields, France _

_ To my dear not-exactly-a-sister, _

_ Would you kindly put my mother out of her misery as gently and naturally as your brash Gryffindor soul can manage and bring up the subject of whether or not you could ever imagine setting foot in my home of your own free will? She has wanted to invite you and your various associates for dinner since the summer. It’s her inner hostess. We would both understand if it would induce nightmares. It does for us. But it’s not knowing your mind that is driving her batty. She can’t predict you, as you are a foreign mix of crafty and forthright. _

_ Speaking of foreign, are you marrying the Bulgarian Bon-bon, or not? And will I score a signed jersey out of it? Consider it, for the next care package, yes? _

_ Speaking of, a small crate of tapenade was duly sent, in case it was consumed entirely in secret, I thought you should know. Now, what do I need to know about Luna Lovegood that was not obvious the last time I noticed her, perhaps two years ago? _

_ Enjoy the cheese, and pair it with an onion confit. Tampy will know. _

_ Your not-exactly-a-brother,  
_ _ Draco _

* * *

_ [translated from the French] _

_ September 26, 199_  
_ _ Hogwarts School for the Gifted  
_ _ Hogsmeade, Scotland _

_ Dear Granmere, _

_ I’m sorry it’s been so long. I know Mum hasn’t spoken with you, either. The truth is, a while back I witnessed a few crimes, and then a few very credible threats had been made against us all, and we had all been put in a witness protection scheme, separate, but secure. The threat has passed now, and while I was hiding in the country, Mum and Dad had sold their practice and moved to Australia. There have been some difficulties reaching them, but we are certain they are safe. I hope that they will be able to be contacted and return soon. I’ll let you know when they are home. _

_ I’ve returned to school for my final year, since I missed out on it last year, and I’m thinking of eloping, but I’ll bring my beautiful man to see you soon, if you like. He speaks French. It’s his fourth language. _

_ Love,  
_ _ Hermione _

* * *

_ September 26, 199_  
_ _ Black Cottage, Ramsgate _

_ Dear Mum & Dad, _

_ If you’re reading this, my friends have been able to help you, and I’m so glad for it. I’m sorry I’m not there with them. I’ve tried to bring back your memories before, but I’ve been unsuccessful, and I couldn’t bear to leave Australia again with you still not remembering me. _

_ I love you, and I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you what I was going to do before I did it. I had to fight in the war. (We won.) I had to keep Harry alive. (He is.) I had to keep you safe. (You were targeted, and they would have tortured and killed you, but I had gotten you out before they could, and they couldn’t find you afterwards.) And I thought I knew what you would say: Don’t fight, leave Harry be, come with us. And if you had said that, the fact that you would have been wise to do so wouldn’t have made my job any easier, because I still would have done what I did. _

_ I’m sorry for taking away your choice. I’m sorry for defying what I believed your wishes would be. I’m sorry for taking away your memories, however temporarily. I understand if you’re angry and don’t wish to see me. _

_ If such is the case, please know that I am as well as can be expected of a war veteran, and I am building a new life of purpose and meaning outside of war and violence, and I am doing so with people who value diplomacy and peace, and people who love and value me and what I can offer the world. _

_ If you ever decide you do wish to see me, just make inquiries at the Leaky Cauldron on Charing Cross Road, and someone will assist you. _

_ All my love, forever,  
_ _ Hermione _

* * *

_ September 26, 199_  
_ _ Black Cottage, Ramsgate _

_ Dear Mum & Dad, _

_ Viktor is absolutely dreamy. I’m more in love with him now than ever I was when I was fifteen, which I suppose is a good thing in the man I will marry. He is sitting next to me on the lawn, right now, reading Shakespeare so that he can understand better the things I love and why I love them. He is calm, centered, thoughtful, insightful, intelligent, and wise, and all this with the physique of a professional athlete. The three months between now and our handfasting seems like ages away, even though I know it will go quickly. When we are alone together like this, quietly working side by side (though clearly I’m taking a break now and writing to you, I am entirely done with my essays for the week and only have few more hours of reading and note taking left, I think), it’s hard to imagine having to wait until December. _

_ No, Mother, we are not waiting because of outdated concerns of patriarchal ownership of a woman’s body, I promise. Interestingly, I don’t think the wizarding world cherishes virginity. I mean, they know what it is, but it’s more of a non-gendered sliding scale of someone who is entirely innocent and hasn’t had any sexual experiences, all the way to someone who has much experience for whatever reason. Having said that, there are some valuable blood rituals (the only blood magic widely used in Britain) that can be performed on a wedding night that can’t be performed at any other time, and if they are to be used, then the actions engaged in during the ritual also need to be the first instance of each action for each person. And the ritual is extremely specific. So Viktor and I have a blacklist of actions that we’re refraining from engaging in so that we can do those rituals in December. But of course, as you’ve always said, Mum, if you make something taboo, you want it so much more. That has never, never been more true for me, and when I start to focus on it too much, it seems like December will never actually arrive. _

_ Today’s letter is entirely devoted to Viktor, in case you were curious. I don’t speak about him enough to you, and so now I will. Excuse me if I gush. _

_ He’s such a poet, and now that his English is much improved, he just spouts spontaneous poetry as he speaks. It’s not trite, it’s not corny, it’s deep and moving in a way I never actually manage on my own, unless I’m quoting him. He spent all his free time for the last four years, not studying the academics he hopes to master in after quidditch, but English, so that he could court me, and if I chose him, he would be ready. _

_ He’s such a powerful wizard. He has an intuitive grasp of the implications of blood magic, which is both handy and intimidating, and I can see that even if we both take a mastery in it, his will be deeper and broader, whereas I will just be in it to learn how not to accidentally kill myself. I would be able to competently and independently do established blood magic and lead others in it, while understanding why it does what it does. He would be able to create new rituals without producing heinous side effects. _

_ Also, his grasp of wandless magic is equally intimidating. I can do a wandless accio and that’s it. He’s able to do nearly all basic charms without his wand, and by basic I mean all the things he was capable of doing by the time he was fifteen, which given the magic he was taught at home and what they chose to teach at Durmstrang, is a bit broader than what I could charm at fifteen. Also, he was allowed to practice during the summer, and apparently his mother was quite good at wandless magic and drilled him endlessly. He stopped practicing it so hard when he started playing quidditch professionally at sixteen, so really I think he’s capable of much more and when he has more time (he estimates his retirement will be around the age of 35, and he’s 21 now), I daresay he will be even more of a wonder than he is now. I think Harry has perhaps this much raw power, but not even a small fraction of the dedication. Once I graduate and things calm down a bit, or at least when I’m not attempting to do two jobs at once, Viktor says he’ll put me through the same drills his mother used and he has every confidence that I’ll get to the level I want to achieve, even though I’m not sure what that is right now. _

_ Tempted to tell you about my plans with tutors and masteries, but I’ll keep the focus on Viktor for now.  _

_ His family cultivates roses (shockingly expensive magical roses) and breeds guard dogs, though it’s possible the latter is just his father’s hobby. Not entirely clear about that, but I suppose I will be soon. So I suppose at this point Viktor is also a master rose gardener, and I wonder if that translates to being able to do other gardening well, or enjoying it. Not sure. I know how much trouble you’ve had with growing roses, Mum - thorny, and difficult to cultivate - and apparently when they’re magical it takes arcane knowledge to do it, which he has. He’s promised to grow me a rose garden when we settle, and I’m going to take him up on it. There are two varieties and while not addictive, each has a scent that plays on your senses and  _ _ does _ _ something to you. The Concordia calms you and makes you more open to being genuine with others. The Empassionata revs you up and makes you quite aware of your desire. And,  _ _ and _ _ , the long stem variety will just continue to bloom freshly for you when cut, if you treat it right. Their longevity undoubtedly adds to the price tag, but it’s illegal to export the plant itself, and only the family cultivates and caretakes these two varieties. They’re also highly sought after as potions ingredients, but Viktor assures me that the family makes regular donations of the Concordia to hospitals and peace negotiations. I have several dozen of each. (He spoils me. He really does and I’m starting to get used to it.) _

_ He’s quite brilliant in his chosen sport, and though you’ve long known my impatience with quidditch, I can readily admit he is amazing at what he does. Barring injury or political shenanigans, I privately wonder if he will play past thirty-five just because he will still be that good. And as gangly and awkward (though unfailingly polite) as he was at seventeen… He’s put on quite a bit of muscle and finally grew into his limbs, I think. He’s still unfailingly polite, and now he’s graceful and elegant to boot for all that he is tall, broad, and perhaps otherwise intimidating. Another feat of amazement, that, for professional seekers are usually quite small and light, and no one could accuse Viktor of either trait.  _

_ Maybe the best part of Viktor, besides the fact that he loves me, is that I feel I can count on him to bring his best to each encounter, to every challenge, no matter how great or small. And Viktor’s best is stunning. And I’ve never really had that with my friends, only with you, and I know you always expected it with me. I wouldn’t have worried half so much about Harry and Ron if they’d been this way. Yes, I mean, we all survived, but Harry in particular is a smart man, a powerful wizard, and if he had brought his best to encounters our world would be quite, quite different. He was raised terribly of course, by people who actively hated and feared him, so it’s quite understandable that it wasn’t instilled at a young age. I have great hopes for his relationship with Ginny, however, for she won’t stand for anything less than his best. But Viktor was raised so well, as I was, and as he is catching up on Shakespere and maths, I shall catch up on wandless magic. And we shall bring our best to each endeavor, together. _

_ And I know I shouldn’t be swayed by physical appearances, which fade, but Mum, I find him gorgeous. Just devastatingly attractive. He is the basis on which I compare all other examples of male beauty, and I have a sneaking suspicion he’ll still be the basis when he’s 121. _

_ I can’t wait for you to meet him. _

_ Love,  
_ _ Hermione _

* * *

_ ENGAGEMENT ANNOUNCEMENT _

_ It is with great pride that the Drs. Granger and the Countess Black jointly announce that Lady Hermione Jean Granger Black Pendragon, of Wales, has accepted the proposal of marriage made by Mr. Viktor Cyril Krum, of Bulgaria. Wedding details will be shared with guests only; an announcement of the marriage will be made once it has occurred. _

* * *

_ KRUM TO WED!  
_ _ Daily Prophet Quidditch Staff Writer _

_ Only days after the International Superstar Viktor Krum made the move to the Ely Inferi, his engagement to the charming war heroine and future Queen of Avalon, Lady Hermione Granger Black Pendragon, OM was announced. No details about the private wedding between the lovely viscountess and her Bulgarian Bon-bon have been revealed, and no parties could be reached for comment. _

_ Could it be that they will wait until Viscountess Black has graduated from her final year at Hogwarts, or could that august institution expect to play host to Viktor Krum for a second time? _

_ Will Krum activate his codicil in order to change his name without penalty, and which of her names will he take? Will the back of his Inferi jersey read Granger, Black, or Pendragon? _

_ When will Krum decide to take his six-weeks of handfasting leave, which is three times longer than the average player can expect to command? Will he leave the Inferi to its second string seeker so soon after being signed? And will it be in the middle of the regular season? _

_ Krum, long famed for his kindness and thoughtfulness off the pitch as much as his domineering presence on it, has always been known as a prince among men. Now it seems he’ll take the title for good. _

* * *

_ September 29, 199_  
_ _ Hogwarts Castle _

_ Dear Elizabeth, _

_ In the interest of not burying the lead, I HAVE BEEN GIVEN EXCALIBUR! Ahem. Yes. The meeting with the lady of the lake went well, in all respects that truly matter. And I shall have the sword of legend for approximately three months before I have to bury it in a stone (as you knew I would) in the magic portion of the coronation ceremony of which Gelwyn herself will be the mistress of ceremonies. But that’s fine. I’m done with war, and my wand is more deadly, regardless. _

_ Also of note, (this would certainly have been the lead, had I not just been given EXCALIBUR!) I have agreed to marry Viktor, as I think you knew I would. And if we’re not married by December 31st, apparently the magic bit with Excalibur would do the trick, so we’re tying the knot earlier in the day. I am glad to know you will be in attendance. For the record, it will be an entirely non-religious ceremony, but we are looking into getting our union blessed by a C of E priest shortly after the festivities are all over. Viktor is Orthodox, but he doesn’t mind. _

_ I do imagine we will have our children baptized, and I would be honored for you or Charles to be one of their godparents. _

_ All else is tripping right along. You’ve no doubt noticed that Viktor is living and working in Ely now, which is just another stop on the floo network and not so very far away. We will get to see each other often, though of course, never often enough. _

_ Minerva is wary of Shakespeare entering the curriculum, but I believe she had a bad encounter with the opening scene of MacBeth and the depiction of witches therein and wrote him off long ago. However, I have a plan! I’ve decided that the moral angle is the best, and given that the morals Shakespeare sets out to prove to us are unimpeachable, I feel I will win the day with rhetoric alone. I’m starting with the Scottish play because it’s best to confront her resentments head on. And since the witches only predict, it’s really MB & wife who choose rather immoral paths to force fate’s hand, when the tragic flaw is that they obviously would have gotten it regardless. It is an exposition on human greed, and how the most virtuous of people can be corrupted by the temptation of power, and having worked for decades with Dumbledore, this line will appeal to her, I think. A cautionary tale against such actions might be quite timely. Still, I’m sketching out a seven-year curriculum and it’s just one more exciting, non-violent, non-dangerous thing I get to do this year. _

_ Unfortunate news for me (not sad really, it just is what it is), I shan’t be attending the Wizengamot until graduation. It turns out the Wizengamot is spelled against being involved in any way in a time loop, so while I can be two places at once when needed, one of those places will never be the Wizengamot. It does make sense, and keeps down the level of shenanigans. Augusta, Narcissa, and Minerva are all in agreement it is typical for seat-holders who are still attending Hogwarts to submit their proxy, and that no one will think the less of me for not skipping class to attend hearings. _

_ Interestingly, the Board of Governors are amending their by-laws to create an ex officio seat for the Pendragon Regent to be occupied when said personage is not a student at the institution. Apparently the first meeting of the Governors after we met, a seat showed up for me, with the Pendragon crest on it. The Governors took it as a sign from Hogwarts herself that she wishes me to be present, since not even the elves took responsibility for it showing up. _

_ Sentient castles are an interesting concept, aren’t they? Shall I tell you about this one, in lieu of the weekly report of How Hermione Nearly Died That One Time? _

_ There’s a book which I’ve read a number of times,  _ _ Hogwarts, A History _ _ , and it’s useful, but naturally there are things missing. As far as I can tell beyond the book, a bit more than a thousand years ago, Maria III convinced four of her friends/associates which happened to be quite likely the four most powerful magical persons in Britain at the time, to create a safe place to educate children, since their safety would not be assured with the Pendragons gone. (Somehow. Not clear about that. There are so many holes in my knowledge, Elizabeth, but I’m closing up one or another everytime I speak with someone, it seems.) They chose a site in Scotland for reasons that haven’t been recorded, but with them went the Pendragon Elves, and the associated Merfolk and Centaurs to guard over the enterprise. The four founders raised the castle in a single day with only their magic. (Not sound building practice these days, as few are strong enough to pull it off without a tragedy looming in the distance.) The castle, therefore, has a mind of her own. (Also a side effect of building this way.) She is filled with secret rooms, staircases that move, secret passageways that only an eleven year old can fit through comfortably, ghosts that share stories of the days gone by, portraits that talk and will give directions to lost students, and a space for everything that you can imagine. Each founder created a house within the school and each worked there, rotating the head position between them. I was sorted into Godric Gryffindor’s house, selected on the basis of my bravery and courage, though the hat (sentient, once belonging to Gryffindor) also offered me Ravenclaw. Luna was sorted into Rowena Ravenclaw’s house, selected for her love of knowledge above all things. Narcissa was sorted into Salazar Slytherin’s house, selected on the basis for her cunning and ambition. (It is not surprising to me that Harry, sorted into Gryffindor as well, was also offered Slytherin.) The fourth house, arguably the best, and therefore denigrated as the worst, is the house of Helga Hufflepuff, who wanted to simply educate and protect children, and so wished to foster in them loyalty and a capacity for hard work, and she would take anyone at all, and certainly those who didn’t measure up to the standards of the other houses. Each house has their detriment. Gryffindor lions tend to not think before they act and can turn out to be bullies as well as heroes. Slytherin’s snakes get a reputation for being outright evil, which is unfair, but then again, some of them do try to live up to it. Or down to it, as the case may be. Ravenclaw’s ravens can be remote, detached, and superior, leading to disinterestedness in the problems of others, and bullying. The Hufflepuff badgers have a reputation for being soft and prone to having group hugs and house parties with kittens and cookies, but that’s just because they’re not the first in the fray. But they’re always the second. (And I believe the kittens and cookies are just to help the first years in their first few days away from home, which is just about the sweetest and most practical thing I’ve ever heard of. I just sobbed silently in my bed the first three nights, and tried to be brave, all the good it did me.) The four founders fell out in the end and everyone left or died, except Hufflepuff (predictably), but their legacy lived on. _

_ Slytherin’s legacy was particularly gruesome, as one of the reasons he fell out with Gryffindor was over the blood status of the children. And he left a basilisk in the basement to eat them all. But that’s part of How We All Nearly Died, Year Two, so clearly a story for another day. _

_ Terrible note to end on. Let me tell you something nice. _

_ I suspect that between the ley lines, the blood magic, the tricky bit with the sword in the stone and the participation of the other three species, after the coronation your realm will actually be tangibly more peaceful at every level. Not a miracle, but perhaps a small gift that I can give back to you, after all of your generosity to me. _

_ Your friend,  
_ _ Hermione _

_ PS - As you might imagine in a sentient castle, things move. Staircases shift and make you late for class, or offer you an unexpected shortcut. Sometimes you have to go up to go down. Sometimes you have to go down to go up. All the house entrances are hidden and password protected, though it’s rather an open secret how to get to each house. Classrooms change location on a chaotic but not entirely random schedule that takes roughly seven years to memorize. We came back third year and there was a forty-foot clock embedded in the entrance cloister that hadn’t been there before. I came back from my bath one day to discover my entire room had been switched out for The Pendragon Suite (which no one knew about, save the elves) which has a connecting door to the Headmistress’ office, something I discovered while in pajamas and bunny slippers. Some doors only open when you do or think certain things. There’s a corridor tiled entirely in pentagons which is mathematically impossible, and it hurts the eye to stare at too long. There’s a house located underneath the loch and not in fact underneath the castle. (Oh, Slytherin.) There are paintings that move and speak and give directions, but then that’s not down to the castle, that’s just the wizarding world. (I’ve resolved myself to the idea that I’ll have to sit for several, and I may as well do it while I’m still young.) It doesn’t actually speak to us, though it may speak to Minerva, and it couldn’t fully protect us in the war, though she did her best, and who knew all those suits of armor that were scattered everywhere could actually be mobilized? _

_ Come to think of it, Hogwarts sets a high bar as castles go. I’ll miss it when I leave. We all do. That’s why Tom staged the last battle here, I think. He wanted Hogwarts as a castle, as the home he loved as a boy when he could love nothing else. But that’s not the way it works, but I could see how he could be confused. Hogwarts hadn’t rejected Professor Snape as Headmaster because he still cared, still protected the children above all else. His loyalty was pure till the end, and Tom had no idea. One cannot simply take a sentient castle. It’s sentient. I’m not certain of course, but that might be the only true way to kill it. _

_ The castle in Wales is tiny in comparison, tiny, predictable, and perhaps a little boring. But I’m glad it’s not sentient. If it had been, after a thousand years of neglect, I’m not sure how much therapy it would need, and I’m not sure who would be qualified to give it. _

* * *

_ September 30, 199_  
_ _ Hogwarts Castle _

_ Dear Narcissa, _

_ I think it works! I could open yours, but of course I would, because I’m your heir, but Ginny Potter couldn’t, so that’s excellent to know. _

_ I did as you asked and ensured that no previous charms were on the pigeon holes, nor the two boxes, but let me take a moment to thank you profusely for thinking of this method of communication and for commissioning such beautiful craftmanship on my behalf. I love the touch with the Pendragon shields on the boxes, and then the other shields on the doors of the pigeon holes. Both practical and beautiful. Do tell me the individual who has done the shields for you so that I can send the rest as the other boxes are produced and delivered. I would also love to know who made the boxes. They are obviously excellent and quite busy, but I may have commissions for them in the future. _

_ Please respond and let me know that the system works completely. _

_ Fondly,  
_ _ Hermione _

* * *

_ September 30, 199_  
_ _ Malfoy Manor _

_ Dear Hermione, _

_ Well done. I knew you could do it, though it is a tricky bit of charms work. I think you are safe now to go ahead and charm the other for Her Majesty. _

_ Forgive me for not answering your letter of the 26th promptly. _

_ I’ve received Mr. Krum’s gracious invitation to breakfast and responded in the positive. I very much look forward to meeting him. I hope you will not mind if I pursue a correspondence with him after we are introduced, as I feel he may have unique insight into the healing of your parents. Your charms master has specifically recommended we consult a master of blood magic, but I am loathe to divulge secrets unnecessarily. If it becomes necessary, of course we will do what must be done, but both Minerva and you yourself mentioned your intended had a flair for it, and wished to pursue a mastery at some point. _

_ I am quite pleased you were able to find a partner in life who is a gentleman, a scholar, and so clearly devoted to you. I had worried it might have been a difficulty for you, as it can sometimes be. You deserve every happiness.  _

_ Do let us pick a date, even an hour on an evening very soon that we and Augusta may walk the grounds of the Welsh estate so we can make some measurements and get a sense of the physicality of your vision in situ. After this it would be very convenient for us to be able to have floo access from our homes directly there, as we will both need to be coming and going a good deal. I shall let you know when we will need to alter the wards to allow work crews access. Augusta and I have our division of labor - she will liaise with the Ministry and manage invitations, crowd control, security, the organization of residence facilities, the lottery for extra invitations, and the tricky business of egress. I shall organize all of the entertainment including the construction of the quidditch pitch and the building of the stage, the refreshment tents, the vendors, and I shall oversee the human master of ceremonies and liaise with Gelwyn for that portion. _

_ Now. A word to the matter of your handfasting. I presume you want a simple ceremony with only your nearest and dearest? Please consider with Viktor whom you wish to invite. If you can manage a guest list of under fifty, it’s quite possible the ritual could be done in the standing stones, otherwise you may wish to consider the Great Hall of the estate. Do let me know who you wish to be in charge of the arrangements for your handfasting and Augusta and I will work with them to make sure all of our plans run seamlessly together. _

_ A moment for a sensitive matter. I understand you believe you have very little chance at regaining your parents by your side any time soon and perhaps not even at all, but please know that I am working very hard to ensure that they will be able to witness your wedding, and given the new leads I am pursuing, I believe the odds are now in my favor. I do not make a promise, but I have great hope for you, my dear, even if you cannot have it for yourself. So when you make your guest list for your wedding, do not forget to count the Doctors Granger. _

_ Fondly yours,  
_ _ Narcissa _

* * *

_ September 30, 199_  
_ _ Buckingham Palace _

_ Dear Hermione, _

_ Thank you ever so much for your care of Charles when we met on the 25th. I was quite remiss not to send a note earlier, but I had a bit of a sniffle and they do so fuss. Enclosed is Charles’ note of thanks to Harry, as well as one to you. I do believe they got on quite well. You will not mind, I hope, playing messenger to any notes between them? Do I understand correctly that the Potters have a townhouse in London, or will shortly? Perhaps you will suggest to Harry that he share his address with Charles after graduation. You are, of course, approximately the same age as my grandsons, and I think it was easy for Charles to see in Mr. Potter a bit of his own William and Harry. I hope that when I am gone (don’t be alarmed at perceived morbidity, it is a condition that will find us all eventually), you will take as good care of Charles and William as you do of me. _

_ Now, considering for a moment the timing of the ceremony of knighthood, I shall walk you through the process, but I think it important that I not be in attendance, so that it is clear you are acting in my stead. However, given that Harry will also be knighted, I believe Charles would enjoy an invitation. Consider a time and date with your advisors, perhaps in late winter. Given your academic schedule, a Saturday or Sunday would be appropriate, if your advisors agree. _

_ I am sorry to hear that the required rituals will necessarily change the date of your wedding, but you are good to let it go. We cannot always get what we want, personally, and it is better to enjoy what we can have than to mourn the loss of what might have been, in other circumstances that have not come to pass after all. _

_ Let us consider for a moment how your intended will be styled after your wedding. As he will be taking your name/names and renouncing his own inheritance, and do check with Narcissa about any differences there may be in the wizarding customs, but it seems to me that he might be the Viscount Black. But certainly he should be His Royal Highness, the Prince Consort, and any children you have would also be styled as Princes and Princesses. I understand that in the wizarding world you are sometimes referred to as the Pendragon Regent, which has a lovely sense of not being a gendered title, to my mind you are Her Royal Majesty the Queen Regent of Avalon, and the Pendragon goes without saying. In some respects, of course, none of this matters a whit. But to a certain kind of people it matters a great deal, and those are the sorts of people who would rub your nose in it, were the situation reversed. Better to be clear from the start and be kind when at all possible. _

_ I would like you to consider what you would like as a wedding present, and as a coronation gift. No, Henry V’s crown does not count, though I can see why you might think it would. _

_ A sentient castle is not a thing in which I would like to live, I think, though I understand that it might be quite useful indeed in the training of magical children to live in a magical world, and for their protection, for the inside sounds like a dangerous maze. And I quite approve of this Hufflepuff House. All children should be raised with a value for hard work and loyalty, or else what’s the point of valor or cunning or raw intelligence? All the same, it does no good to demonize other people. People are not evil. They may be influenced by it, but they are not it, and when we confuse the two, the most dreadful actions can be rationalized. _

_ If you don’t mind, will you explain the exchange that occurred between yourself and your house elf on the 25th? I should like it all laid out quite plain for me. It seemed that you may have realized something quite important, and I should like to know how it all fits into this larger picture you are painting for me. _

_ Now, about Excalibur. I hope I will be allowed to see it before it goes in the stone. And concerning these books you mentioned when we spoke in Wales, I should like a copy of each one you publish. You are quite an accomplished storyteller and I would enjoy reading, I think, anything you had to say as it would both inform and amuse simultaneously. I promise that such books would be kept under lock and key, along with the other artifacts of your world I am accumulating. _

_ I am glad to see your Shakespearean campaign is coming along nicely. Out of curiosity, do you subscribe to any of the alternate theories of authorship? I have always found the claims of Christopher Marlowe to be a little excessive, but I could well imagine my predecessor censoring the Earl of Oxford and him finding a bit of a work-around in order to still do what he loved. Also, it is clear that more than one of the histories was written in a rather placating tone, excellent morals aside. WS would have no reason to placate QEI, but if the Earl was found out by her, then he certainly would have abundant reason to laud some kings and vilify others in turn. That, to me, is a more compelling argument than comparing and contrasting personal traits, educational backgrounds, and writing styles. The first of my name was quite an individual, and she wanted what she wanted, and that she largely got. I certainly wouldn’t have wanted to be on the wrong end of her ire. Still. The Bard is known as Shakespeare, whether he was or only wished to be and so he shall remain, original authorship notwithstanding. _

_ Your friend,  
_ _ Elizabeth _

* * *

“Ginny?” Hermione began, looking up from her homework as the redhead was making notes at the round table on one of her extra curricular projects.

“Hmm?” Ginny asked, not looking up.

“You’ve joked about planning my wedding,” Hermione hedged.

“You’re not getting offended  _ now _ , are you?” Ginny asked absentmindedly.

“No, I was sort of wondering if you’d like to actually do it.”

Ginny’s head slowly rose and she turned to face Hermione who sat at the desk. “Um,  _ yeah.  _ For real?”

Hermione nodded. “Absolutely. It’ll be simple, small, and about an hour before my coronation, so there really isn’t room to go overboard. But would you be willing to do it?”

Ginny got up, walked around the room and stood behind Hermione and gave her a hug from behind. “Of course I will. Are you going to wear that gorgeous dress Narcsissa got you, in its white form?”

“That’s what I’m thinking. Come with me when I go to the vault on Saturday. If I can get access to all the stuff, there may be useful accoutrement we’d want to use. Did you guys have a handfasting, or just a muggle thing over the anvil?”

Ginny let go and hopped up to sit on Hermione’s desk, next to the textbook she had open. “No, it was strictly muggle. But I’ll read up on the ritual and the standard form for invitations. Were you thinking of Minerva to officiate, or someone else?”

“Minerva. We’ve already spoken.”

“I don’t think you can hold flowers, but you could have a crown of them, and I think its standard for Viktor to have one too. I’ll investigate, but would you be up for that?”

Hermione nodded. “Let me find out if Viktor has a preference for flowers. He may want them to be his,” she said, gesturing to the vase of white Concordias on her desk, behind where Ginny was perched.

“Got it. Invitations are easy. I’ll work up a couple of drafts and you can choose which one you like better. Give me a guest list, soon, okay?”

Hermione nodded again.

“Where are you holding it?”

“Either the standing stones, or the Great Hall in the Curtain, depending on size.”

“Reception?”

“Non existent. I’m getting crowned instead, and we’ll have a reception after that.”

Ginny thought about that for a moment. “What would you say to a brief champagne toast? It just seems wrong to have  _ nothing.  _ Let people drink to your happiness, if only three sips.”

Hermione nodded. “I can see your point. I don’t think Viktor will have a problem with that, but let me run it by him, just in case there are dire ramifications for having three sips of alcohol ninety minutes before doing a blood ritual. In which case, everyone else can toast us, and we’ll toast each other later in the day.”

“What about the ribbon? You could go super simple and just have a three foot length of white ribbon to tie your arms together, or we could get a stole embroidered. Could be pretty.”

Hermione shook her head. “Ribbon. But decent ribbon. None of that cheap stuff.”

“I’m assuming everyone attending the wedding will also be attending the coronation?”

“Yes, I think we can take that for granted.”

“Would you be okay with providing each of the guests with a corsage? I was thinking it could be something they might wear during the coronation. Just a little something to say, ‘you’re special and we love you,’

“I think that’s lovely, Ginny. Thank you. See? This is why you should be doing it. I’d just kick off my shoes and fetch a ribbon and move on.”

“Been there, done that. It was worth it to get Harry all tied up, but I don’t mind having a moment to flex my wedding planning muscles now and spare my future daughters the agony of having me work out all my unexpressed angst all over them.”

“So you’re going to work it out on me?” Hermione said, grinning bemusedly.

“Nah, haven’t gotten a chance to really work up a head of steam yet. I’m hoping this will ward it off, you know?”

“Even though it’s small and simple?”

“Meh,” Ginny replied. “It’s going to be way bigger than mine.” After a moment, she added, “Pictures?”

“Yes, both muggle and wizarding, but nothing crazy. Just a few tasteful shots while the ritual is going on, one group picture, and one single shot of the two of us. None of this standing forever with every group of people separately. No. The picture taking will not last longer than the ritual itself. Which reminds me, Narcissa and Augusta will want to coordinate with you, so it’s likely that whichever photographers they’ve arranged we can also use for this. I think Narcissa is in charge of photography.”

“Who’s in charge of souvenirs?”

“Not sure. Why?”

“Well, I’ve had some ideas,” Ginny said, grinning.

“Nothing tacky.”

“No, no, nothing tacky. Would I be tacky?” she said, going back to her work.

Hermione shrugged, and let it go. It would probably be fine. Ginny had an enterprising mind and actually quite excellent taste.

* * *

The mantel clock in Hermione’s study read five minutes to ten in the evening. She had studied relentlessly, was all caught up on her correspondence, had added a few notes to her outline for her book for muggleborn children, as well as her notes for a possible Hogwarts Orientation weekend, and had added a few random notes to her list of odd ideas for Ginny’s enterprising mind to play with. She had taken a bath and soaked in the hot water and finally really breathed deeply. She called Tampy and let her know that she was nipping to Black Cottage for an hour so that the elf, in turn, could alert Minerva.

She flooed in then cleaned herself off. She’d come a minute or two early so she could have a look around and see if any visual progress had been made. Narcissa had said ages ago everything that was being done, but so much had to do with the infrastructure, and so visible progress wasn’t always so clear.

Well, there were no changes, except in the kitchen. She hadn’t been in there for perhaps two weeks and it was a different place. It had been entirely updated, and though it had been perfectly clean and tidy before, it had also been quite clearly a kitchen from the 1940’s.

She might have kept exploring, but she heard the quiet chime that sounded throughout the house that indicated someone had just flooed in. She headed back toward the entrance salon and saw her beautiful man standing there, watching the floo and waiting for her.

“Hello, Viktor,” she said quietly, smiling.

He turned around and greeted her with a smile. “Myon,” he said, and the sound of her name was a caress in his mouth. “Good evening.”

They came together softly and gently, and he held her in his arms, and Hermione could breathe deeply again. 

“How was your day?” he asked.

“Good,” she said. “Busy,” she added. “Long,” she realized. “Yours?”

“The same. I think I need more sleep, and maybe you do, too. What if we used three hours, and then returned only a little after ten?” he asked.

She nodded, pulled out the time turner, looped it around his neck and twisted the little knob three times. Reflexively she looked at her watch. It wouldn’t do to arrive back before they had left.

“Let’s go sit on the lawn,” she suggested. “I’ve been sent with heaps of wedding questions.”

They did, and Viktor listened to Ginny’s thoughts about flowers. 

“Mm. Of course we will supply the flowers. White everlast Concordias would be best. But then let the flowers of our crowns become the corsages. We will also supply the booches. And that way it will be a beautiful and appropriate gift of thanks for bearing witness to our handfasting.”

And then they tackled the guest list. Some guests were easy to agree on. Firenze, Gelwyn, Grims and their plus ones. Some were obvious. Parents. Hermione’s advisors. Viktor’s friends. The Windsors. And then there was the question of Draco. And Ron. And the Weasleys, beyond Bill and Fleur.

“But tell me why, Hermione,” Viktor asked patiently.

“Well, Ron, so he knows there are no hard feelings,” she began, but at the look on his face, she paused.

“But there  _ are  _ hard feelings, Myon. You say you will eviscerate his character for me, and though we have not yet had time, I do look forward to it.”

“Yes, but I don’t  _ want  _ there to be hard feelings,” she said, pointing out the obvious.

“That is not helping you very much in not having them,” he said, perhaps also pointing out the obvious.

She sighed and took a deep breath. And then another. “Your right. And I still want to invite him.”

“Okay,” he said, accepting it and leaning over to kiss her gently on the lips. “I will keep my petty jealousies to myself, for now. Provided I may give you many, many orgasms between now and then.”

“Mmm,” Hermione agreed with a smile. “And after. It better not stop when we get married, Viktor.”

“Mm,” he groaned, and then the kiss rather took over all of their attention for some many long moments. When they came back to themselves, Hermione was on top of Viktor and Viktor was on top of the list. It took an accio to find her pen in the grass.

“Alright, as to why all the Weasleys, it’s not just because Harry married Ginny. It’s also because in a lot of ways they sort of half-adopted Harry and in a smaller way me, and maybe that was just because we were muggle-raised and friends with Ron, but it also happened in war time. And we haven’t always gotten along, Molly and I, but I know she’s always cared so deeply for me and Harry. And I just want to.”

“Okay.” He kissed her again. They didn’t lose the pen this time.

“And Draco-”

Viktor groaned.

“Wait,” she asked. “I’ve been working very, very hard on repairing my relationship with Draco and he has been entirely game for that. I mean, he’s fully participated. I don’t want to be in some sort of state of subtle war with him. Think of what that will do to Narcissa. At the very least for her sake I wanted to try to come to some sort of peace with him, so I knew that even if it didn’t work, I had honestly tried. And it went and worked. And I think, maybe, we might become friends. And just as I have grown a lot since you spent a year at Hogwarts, I think Draco has grown so much more. And I’m glad. He was a total shit as a child, but given his father that isn’t a huge surprise. And given his mother, now that his father is out of the picture, I’m also not surprised that he was able to man-up, sort out his priorities, and grow the hell up. And Viktor, isn’t that what we would want for everyone? That they work out their issues while they’re young enough to be easily forgiven and then grow up to be beautiful, bright, worthwhile human beings?”

Viktor narrowed his eyes. “And when did you get so wise?”

Hermione smirked. “I’ve been listening to you,” she pointed out.

Viktor groaned and rolled his eyes. “Do not quote me back to me. It is inconvenient,” he groused.

Hermione laughed, and put Draco’s name firmly on her list, and then kissed Viktor for being a fairly good sport about it. Then the subject changed to churches, blessings, baptisms, and visits.

Viktor had not yet tried out the three churches he had names for, but the concierge at his hotel had been very accommodating and found three possible orthodox churches for him that were all located relatively close to floo addresses around Great Britain. They discussed the possibility of Viktor joining her for Sunday morning worship at the church she grew up in and agreed on trying it out the next Sunday. When Hermione suggested one service over another due to it being fifteen minutes shorter and without any sort of music, Viktor refused.

“Myon, the music is half of the appeal. That and the icons.”

Hermione blinked. Should she tell him there were no icons? At least, none that she was aware of? She thought about that for a moment.

“Well,” she decided upon. “Won’t it be interesting to discuss the differences in what we’re used to? Will you take me out for a late breakfast afterwards?”

“Yes. I shall find some interesting restaurants for us. Now. It is the beginning of a new month. What do you want for yourself this month?” he asked, and the subject change took Hermione by surprise.

“Oh. Well. There was quite a bit of upheaval last month. I suppose I’d like to have a quiet month where I can study and just get used to things, perhaps. I don’t know if I’ll have it, but that’s what I’d like. And you, Viktor? What do you want for the month of October?”

Viktor grinned and leaned over to kiss her softly. “You. Moments like this with you. Quiet, like you say. Time to adjust. Time to settle into the rhythm of playing with the Inferi.”

Hermione privately wondered if she should change her answer to specifically include Viktor, but then decided to change the subject instead. “And how  _ are  _ you settling in with the Inferi? You’ve had a full week of practice and tomorrow is your first game. Wait, don’t tell me. I’ve written out a schedule of your games. Geese. Insane geese? Insane geese from somewhere? Or herons, perhaps?”

Viktor’s mirth overflowed and he flopped back on the grass, putting his arm over his eyes and laughing. Eventually he corrected her. “Mad Ducks, Myon. The Stapleford Mad Ducks. But thank you for pointing out ridiculousness of all names.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I think the Nottingham Bandits are perfectly well named. The Penzance Pirates, as well. I do however believe that calling your team the Dementors is just asking for trouble. Thank you for not becoming a Dementor. Now, Harry has had to face actual Inferi, but I haven’t, so no odd associations there. Well, for me. But Mad Ducks? I totally don’t get it. Are they a  _ good _ team?”

Viktor rolled slightly and propped his head up on his hand. “Mm, yes, not bad. Not the best in the league, but they have a strong defensive side. It could be a very close game. But now, tell me why the names of Nottingham and Penzance make sense for you.”

Hermione launched into descriptions of Robin Hood and Gilbert and Sullivan operettas, and the movies she had grown up watching.

Then she explained movies.

“Muggles sometimes call what they do in movies magic, because it can be so technically brilliant and complex that when you watch it on the screen it seems quite real, and yet you know it can’t have been. Well, if you’re non-magical you know it can’t have been. But they use the word magic to sort of faceticitiously explain a lot of their world that they don’t want to take the bother to explain all the complex steps for. There’s a lot of arcane knowledge that is scientific and technical, rather than magical, to be learned, and it takes many more years to master it than it does to master say charms, or potions.”

“Can we watch movies? I would like to see some of these movies, I think.”

Hermione took a deep breath. There was a perfectly nice tv, plus so many beloved video cassettes… at home.

“Dinner and a movie is often a very respectable non-magical date, though one usually only goes out to a movie theatre for the new releases. Well, at least the big theatres. But how would you feel about a double date? With Harry and Ginny? I know he’s been sharing some movies with her, as well. It would be at my parent’s house, and I’d get the twins to cook for us. Movies are generally about two hours long, so it would be a bit of a long night.”

“Yes. I would like that very much, Myon. But now you are sad. Is it about Harry?”

She shook her head. “The house I grew up in. I probably should have had my parents sell it when they sold their practice and moved, but I didn’t. It was totally selfish on my part.”

“No,” Viktor said in his totally definitive and assured way. “Not selfish, Myon. Never selfish. You needed somewhere to belong. Somewhere to go home to. This cannot be selfish. You did this to preserve your sanity, and I am glad it is preserved. Consider well if it would only make you sad to go home and watch movies with us. And if it would, we will find another way to do it, another time.”

Hermione shook her head immediately. “No, but it is something I would love to share with you. I mean, it’s part of who I am, how I grew up, and the way I think, and mentally reference things. I think Narcissa is planning to wire this cottage for electricity, which means that though the castle will likely never be electrified, we will be able to put a tv in one of the salons here. Or possibly just convert it to a movie room. I should probably talk with her about that sooner rather than later. Then we could have proper screenings of all our old favorites. Well, my old favorites.”

“And soon, I will have old favorites, too, Myon.”


	19. Chapter 16: Wherein the vault is revealed.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione performs blood magic for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is another 20 paged chapter. I debated splitting it up... but i didn't. So here. Have two days worth of update in one. Enjoy!

_ Dear Hermione, _

_ I’m writing you so we don’t accidentally make a big deal out of this. I can see that you’re set for advisors, and no lack of strategic minds are in the group. I’d like to bow out, if you don’t mind. I really don’t mean any offence, I hope you won’t take any. I would like to remain friends, but I don’t think I want to be in the inner circle anymore. I hope you’re not mad, and I hope I’ll be invited to the wedding. _

_ Ron _

* * *

_ October 2, 199_ _

_ Dear Ron, _

_ Thank you for letting me know. I really appreciate the insight and advice you’ve offered and I completely understand your wanting to step back. No offence taken. I’ll be glad to still call you friend, and you will certainly be invited to the wedding, you and your plus one. _

_ Hermione _

* * *

_ October 2, 199_  
_ _ Hogwarts Castle _

_ Dear Narcissa, _

_ I was thinking about all of the beautiful progress you’re making at Black Cottage (I go every evening to take in the sea air and, I admit, have a quiet moment with Viktor) and I was wondering about something. You mentioned you were going to have it wired for electricity, which I think is a wonderful idea and I am so curious as to how intense magic can be used in the same area as electrical appliances and technology, but I wonder if it would throw too big of a wrench into your plans to have one of the salons made over into a movie room? I could of course do it once you are entirely finished, but I would hate to undo all the work you’ve done with such thoughtful intention to a room. If it is too much, would you be willing to leave one room effectively a blank slate with plenty of plugs and thick curtains for the windows? _

_ Looking forward to our breakfast tomorrow,  
_ _ Hermione _

* * *

The Gringotts cart ride was no less hair-raising than it ever was. Gulrot was driving, and Master Harris was sitting up front between Pampy and Grims, and Tampy was sitting between Hermione and Ginny.

The frost had not broken between the Twins and the Pendragon Head Elf, but Grims was a great deal less hateful to Hermione ever since she’d knelt down in front of the elf, taken her hands, and solemnly sworn that she would never again seek to break the circle, nor the arrangement of the Four, and that she deeply regretted such actions in the past. Not a vow that would be difficult to keep, and essentially the same one she had given to Tampy. Hermione had thought long and hard about what to say, and in the end decided to keep it entirely simple, extremely general, and not at all personal. Things were better after that. Not that Grims was ever happy to see her, but there was a bit of respect, and that was significant progress.

After the cart ride, the long staircase down was illuminated in a small way by Gulrot’s lantern and in a larger way by the elves’ fire at the click of their long fingers.

This time Hermione was ready with one of her disposable straight razors. She’d procure a decent knife for blood rituals at some point, but she hadn’t gotten around to it yet, and she quietly suspected there might be several to choose from in the “We Love Blood Magic” Pendragon Vault.

Perhaps she would find out today.

Once the dragon appeared and flamed a doorway open for them, Master Harris and Hermione alone walked in. They had already agreed that the place the paper had been originally left was probably a safe place to stand while performing the ritual. Master Harris had Hermione practice three more times - the stance, the singing, the slicing while singing, and where the blood should be placed. When it was all finished, she would banish the blade.

And the first time she worked the ritual, nothing happened. Hermione didn’t panic, but a feeling of dread began to grow.

Master Harris thought about it for about four agonizing minutes of silence before he instructed her to do it again, just as she had before, but this time, put the blood on the paper, just as it had been laying on the floor, and meanwhile he would step out of the vault. And if that didn’t work, do it a third time, also with him out of the room, but with the blood back on the floor.

As the blood dropped onto the paper and seeped in, Hermione noticed a shimmer all around her, and then there was a sudden rush of air as other things filled the room all at once, and shoved the air out.

Master Harris walked back in with a large smile on his face. He congratulated her and they shook hands. He quickly excused himself and told her he would just go wait in the cart for her to finish her business. She was not to rush, as he had brought a book.

Hermione ducked out of the vault and asked everyone but the goblin to come in and join her for a moment.

“Ginny, you’re on the lookout for wedding goodies. Tampy and Pampy, I want you to take note of anything you think might be of personal use to me within the next year, and I’m especially looking for Excalibur’s scabbard, a decent athame, and possibly a gift for Viktor. Grims, come with me.”

She sent most of them off hunting for treasure and faced her Head Elf alone.

“Grims, I’ll need your help in a variety of ways, here. I want to move many things back to the Curtain today, but other things I may leave here until we decide they are necessary. All the books and scrolls go, and should be shelved in the third floor work room in the curtain. They don’t need to be shelved in any specific order, of course. All the tapestries in good condition should be hung up around the castle. I’m claiming the blue suite on the first floor for my own, mine and Viktor’s so nothing gruesome in there, please. All the rugs that were crafted or made can come back, but not the animal skins just yet. We’ll take those piece by piece if we take them at all. If there are any potions ingredients or equipment, those should go in the third floor work room as well. For the rest, let’s walk through it now and see what we’ve got to work with.”

Hermione and Grims walked through the vault going row by row and Hermione solicited Grims’ opinion enough that the elf started spontaneously offering it, which was entirely the point. Some things were obvious - chairs, stools, pillows, linens, plates - and other things less obvious. Grims knew what most but not all things were.

Despite Master Harris’ kindness, she didn’t want to stretch his forbearance, so after about fifteen minutes and a sweep through all the items plainly visible and a very few of the ones crated, boxed, and trunked, she called a halt to it all.

“I think that’s enough to go on. We’ll come back in a week or two and go through all these crates and things. Grims, why don’t you start getting things moved out and settled in the Curtain. If you notice we’re missing essential items for everyday living, make a note of that and we’ll search specifically for it next time. I’ll be along in a day or two to admire your progress. Ginny, what have you found?”

Ginny had found the jewelry. 

Tampy and Pampy had found a matching set of  _ two dozen  _ personal athames each with beautiful inlays in the handles. And a set of two beautiful brown-purple leather capes lined in ermine that seemed like it might have been made out of dragon as well as many different ermine. One looked like it would fit Hermione very well, and one looked like it would fit Viktor.

Tampy apologized for not finding anything specifically for Viktor, but it was true that there might still be something in what they were bringing back, and there might still be something yet to be discovered that had been left behind.

Pampy had not been able to find any empty scabbard, though there were plenty of trunks they hadn’t yet examined.

While Ginny and the Twins were gathering things up to put in a pile so Pampy could take them directly back, Hermione was nosing around, opening trunks.

The first one she looked at had a pile of gold pieces. Hermione took one out and examined it. It certainly wasn’t a modern galleon, though it seemed to weigh about the same. Given its antiquity, it was probably worth a hell of a lot more, though it wasn’t as if she could just auction off a small lot at Sotheby’s. She pocketed the gold piece and closed the trunk, moving on.

The next was full of wands, just in a giant heap. Very likely nearly a hundred, in there. Hermione wondered if there was an index of them, and what they were, and if it might be worthwhile to have them all examined and indexed by Olivander at some point.

Five were full of dragon skins, and those were much larger on the inside than the outside. One had green, one blue, one black, one brownish-purple, and one red. Hermione grinned at that, and wondered if she needed anything  _ else  _ in red leather. And she wondered if Viktor would consent to wearing a pair of black dragon leather trousers...

Four were full of grain, each trunk different, and a fifth one was filled with smaller containers that revealed themselves to be seeds, upon further inspection. It made Hermione wonder if portions of the Great Lawn were ever farmed, or if there were other areas that had been used that way.

There were more trunks, many more, but Pampy had taken the goods directly back to her suite at Hogwarts and Ginny and Tampy were finished and waiting. Grims was already gone, with about one fifth of the contents of the vault taken with her.

Hermione rejoined them and went back to the roomier cart, now that two elves had apparated out, something that goblins couldn’t ward against even if they wanted to.

Hermione tried never, not ever, to think of the most adventurous time she had been in Gringotts when she was in fact  _ in Gringotts,  _ just in case there was ever any mental magic at play, but often something would remind her of it, and the ability to make a quick and discreet exit from Gringotts was definitely one of them. In such moments it was hard to train her mind. Instead she focused on talking with someone else.

“Master Harris,” she began, her voice shaking with the effort of talking  _ during  _ the cart’s jerky and rollercoasteresque movement. “Thank you so much for overseeing the ritual and troubleshooting it. I really appreciate you taking time out of your schedule for this.”

He turned slightly so he could be heard. “It’s my pleasure, Miss Granger. You did very well. We’ll discuss this on Monday, and break it down some more and see which principles applied, and which didn’t.” Then said he turned around and Hermione let him be. They said goodbye to him in the grand lobby of Gringotts as he cited some business of his own he would transact while he was there.

While they had some time at liberty from Hogwarts - not an issue for Hermione, but certainly for Ginny - they visited a specialty stationer and selected papers and envelopes for the wedding invitations, and while Hermione was at it, she put in a bulk order for a slightly nicer note paper for the massive amount of letters she found herself writing these days. She got a larger size for the longer letters to Elizabeth and her parents and occasionally other people, and a smaller size for more normal sized letters, or quick notes. She forewent envelopes and instead chose a gross of black sealing wax which would work whether she folded or rolled the letters. And then she bought three more jars of black ink, laughing at Ginny’s purchase of a small jar of sparkly purple ink for the wedding invitations.

And Hermione was rather done with quills. She had been for some time. Instead she had invested in a set of quality fountain pens over the summer, which could be refilled with ink quite easily. She later found out that culturally, quills were reserved for children and purists, and most wizards eventually just invested in a pen at  _ some point. _

They purchased a length of sturdy white grosgrain for the handfasting, as Hermione found the satin ribbons too fussy, and Hermione promised to go and order two coffees for them and snag an outdoor table while Ginny nipped into the florists to inquire about a catalogue of white flowers and the ins and outs of ordering for weddings, just in case Viktor’s family wasn’t prepared to supply the flowers. Pampy went with her to open an account, as Ginny had lost the argument about who would pay for the different aspects of the wedding.

After a brief coffee break, they made an appointment for Viktor to be fitted for his wedding clothes on the morning of his day off on the 10th, and then they both solemnly promised to only spend ten minutes in the bookshop so Ginny could find a wedding planning guide and make sure she wasn’t missing anything.

Naturally, they went beyond their time limit twice over, but a mere thirty minutes in a bookshop wasn’t bad for either one of them. When Hermione put a pile of purchases on the checkout counter, she surveyed them with satisfaction. There were three books about ley lines that weren’t part of her curriculum, but looked interesting, including a comprehensive world atlas of ley lines that her tutor hadn’t seen fit to assign her - bizarre - and also all the decent looking books she could find about house elves, centaurs, and merfolk, of which there were a paltry four, total. Hermione hoped to make a survey of what the common knowledge about these three groups of beings was, and then she would start her own books from there - either building on them, or debunking them entirely.

Not that she had already started writing, per se. But she did have several outlines. It wouldn’t do for her to forget any of the highlights she needed to cover, as the realizations were coming faster than she could possibly write anyway, even with five extra hours a day, outlines seemed like the best way to go, for now. Especially since some of those five hours were spent in an extracurricular manner, mainly with Viktor.

And finally, they stopped for lunch out in non-magical London, for a bit of privacy. And it was then that she finally said what she needed to say most, perhaps.

“Ginny, I realize I’ve never actually said it. But I want you to know… when I was petrified back in your first year, that was all Tom. I don’t hold you at all responsible. Not even at the time. I’m sorry it took me so long to point this out. It’s been obvious to me, but I realize it may not be obvious to you.”

A forced smile briefly flashed across her face, and the redhead turned to her lunch portion of steak and kidney pie.

“And if you ever want to talk about that time, or the depridations of Tom as a seventh year… I’m here. And I love you. And I think Tom was a right git to use you that way.”

“A right sociopathic git,” Ginny muttered before taking a bite.

It was quiet at the table after that, though not at the pub they’d stopped in for lunch. All around them locals and tourists out for the day mingled into a gigantic, medium-loud crowd of muggle color. And at their table, silence and eating. Hermione’s thoughts were full of second guesses and wondering if she had said the entirely wrong thing in the service of trying to do the right thing. If she was lucky, time would tell. As Ginny changed the subject, her sunny disposition entirely returned, or so it seemed, Hermione went along with it, talking about the idea she’d had based on muggle blister-packs for the safe, sterile packaging of individual medical potions dosages. Soon the young women were both engrossed in their conversation and Tom was forgotten again, for a while.

* * *

_ October 2, 199_  
_ _ Hogwarts Castle _

_ Dear Viktor, _

_ I see you daily, so I’ve hardly had any excuse to write, but I wanted this letter to be waiting for you after your first match signed with the Inferi, since I wouldn’t be. I realize you may not look at your mail immediately upon your return, but I’m pretending for the purposes of writing this letter that you will do. _

_ I love you so much, and the only reason I care if you’ve won or lost against the Infamous Mad Ducks of Stapleford is because one makes you happy and the other makes you sad, and I would prefer not to have you be sad, whether I am there to see it or not. _

_ And I realize that I’ve never seen what you’re like after you win a match. Are you buoyant and laughing? If you take a shower directly after, I imagine you aren’t sweaty, but then I find I kind of want to imagine you sweaty. Glistening, hot, dirty, exhausted but elated, and not too tired for sex, stunning in both quality and quantity. (Oh, these letters always devolve into sexiness eventually, I’ve just come to accept that.) _

_ Keep that in mind for your exhibition match at the end of the year, or really, the beginning of next year. I’ll try to make sure Narcissa doesn’t schedule any Shakespeare for directly after your match so that my schedule will be absolutely clear for some significant fornication in the Roman Bath. And possibly massages for afters. Apparently, the Twins can do that, too. _

_ I adore you. And I look forward to Saturdays in the future when I can soothe your saddened brow with my love, affection, and perhaps some soft and sweet sex; and I look forward to those Saturdays, too, when you can pound into me in abandon and elation and continue the celebration with sex against the wall. (Does it always have to be about sex? Certainly not. But we’re young. I figure it will be, until it isn’t.) _

_ Looking forward to our ongoing stamina drills with glee and a fair bit of greed. _

_ Love,  
_ _ Hermione _

_ PS - you wouldn’t think I’d need to masturbate with your daily gift of an orgasm, but I find sometimes I need to jumpstart my day before I can drag myself out to go running, and sometimes I don’t make it until ten at night before I need another fix, so I go in my room, shut all the doors, pretend I’m not at home, and imagine what it will finally feel like when you can orgasm inside of me and I can orgasm inside of you, and we can both orgasm, being filled by the other. By no means would I go back on my promise, but every fiber of my being screams for you on a regular basis, and it is doing so now. I crave your touch… _

* * *

_ October 2, 199_  
_ _ The Cross Hotel, Ely _

_ My darling Hermione, _

_ Thank you for your letter. I did read it, though not immediately. I missed the clerk at the front desk, and so it was run up to my room perhaps twenty minutes after I arrived, and may I say I appreciate very much receiving any sort of letter from you on any occasion, but I hope you will continue to send me your Saturday love letters until I can come home directly to you, take you in my arms, and whisper to you how beautiful and glorious you are. (It’s okay with me that sooner or later we end up getting quite sexy in our letters. For when I am with you, sooner or later I succumb in a private moment to kissing you thoroughly while I imagine so much more.) _

_ I am pleased to say that the Inferi had a very respectable game against the Stapleford Mad Ducks and Ely won by a mere 30 points, not a spread that brings great comfort, but a win nonetheless. As I had mentioned, they continue to have a very strong defensive side, and it was a while until I was even able to consider ending the game. I have no bones broken, nor skin bruised, no sprains, no pulls, no twists, no contusions, and no concussions. I am a paragon of health and robust character, until I come home and read your letter, and then I am panting for you, desperate like a man dying of thirst. _

_ Oh, I will take you against a wall one day, with your delicious thighs wrapped around my waist, and I will have the stamina to hold off, waiting, waiting, waiting even as our bodies mimic the rhythm of our hearts, and I will have you screaming my name. I will. _

_ And I will accept the sweetness of your body in consolation when I have failed my team to end the game at the right time, in the right way. I will feast between your thighs and suckle your breasts and then finally take you from behind, laying beside you and holding you as tightly as I dare, bringing you to orgasm after orgasm, each one a little victory for me as I slowly rut inside of you and remind myself of what is important and what is real. Your love will put the loss in perspective for me, and I will be joyful once more when I can hear your sweet voice sigh and groan in pleasure. _

_ Our stamina drills are the most intense training I’ve ever engaged in, and I’m addicted in only a week. Don’t be late tonight. _

_ All my love, always,  
_ _ Viktor _

_ PS - When I first awake in the morning. When I return from practice. With you. Once more right before I sleep. More, sometimes, on my days off, if I have privacy. But always I want you, it is an undercurrent in my body, in my soul. And now, once more I imagine my face between your thighs and I am hard. I will finish my fantasy, my pleasure, and then this letter. _

_ It is done, and I adore you. _

* * *

Hermione was beginning to regret that she had only one suit. Certainly in the wizarding world, this was somewhat standard. One bought a set of formal robes and then seemed to live in them. And yet, this was not how she was raised. Her mother had five suits, one for each day in the office, and several different dresses for any variety of occasions from social to church to fancy fundraisers to dates with her father. 

It was an odd little cultural difference.

The amazing and gorgeous dress Narcissa had given her… well, possibly it could suffice for nearly everything. And her suit could possibly finish the job. A long trenchcoat, possibly of red dragon leather, with her boots, could be quite a signature look.

Hermione thought about it as she got dressed.

How many clothes does a person need?

Clothes to go out and be beautiful in. Check.

Clothes to go out and be formal in. Check.

Clothes to run in. Check.

Clothes to stay in and be informal in. Check.

Underclothes. Check.

Outerwear. Possibly this is where the trenchcoat would come in.

Shoes of various sorts.

Apparently not everyone needed pajamas.

Still. Her weight was still in flux, and she wondered if she would gain back all that she had lost with starvation, and where she would end up stabilizing. Perhaps once she did she would have the suit altered, or get a new one, and then take it to a wizarding tailor to have it properly reinforced for the sort of hard use the wizarding world expected to get out of their clothes.

Hermione shook her head. It really was a different world, within the world. A subculture totally ignored by the main culture and yet deeply influenced by it. 

And she was daydreaming again, staring off into the distance, thinking about things. Hermione shook her head yet again and got back to it.

She never slept in the time turner, but she had gotten used to sleeping in the locket. It never actually dawned on her that she was safe enough at Hogwarts not to have to wear it all the time. 

The rings took more getting used to, however, and they still made her fingers feel strange in the night. Hermione supposed that would go away eventually. After all, people wore wedding rings all the time without a problem. Still, she put on her earrings, bracelet, watch and time turner and braided her hair back, all the while wondering if she could figure out how to do some braids that were a bit fancier than what she was used to.

As she pulled her slip on over her stockings, and then the blouse, she considered that she had won an absolute  _ packet  _ on Dean’s ill fated book. She’d gotten 100 galleons after Negash and Tommy had taken significantly less than their promised share. Still, it was about 2000 pounds sterling, and more than enough to splurge on a really fine suit with the sort of timeless tailoring that would still be in style in thirty years.

Hermione pulled her black wool skirt on and buttoned and zipped the side, then sat down to pull her red dragon boots on. She pulled her jacket on, buttoned up the front, attached the Concordia to her lapel, and looked in the mirror.

_ Not bad.  _ If she had to only have one suit, this was a good one to have, and the boots made everything more wonderful.

Staring at herself in the mirror, Hermione realized she needed one more piece of clothing. A dress, and a shorter one than the evening gown Narcissa had gotten her. But if she could get one like it, one that changed colors, but perhaps stopping just above her knees, and maybe with a bit of a flair in the skirt? That would be a fantastic date night dress. And it would also look fantastic with her boots, and the trenchcoat that did not yet exist.

_ Yet. _

Her watch indicated that she was, in fact, twenty minutes early and she really didn’t want to arrive so early and cut short whatever preparations Viktor might need to make for himself. Two minutes early would be fine, so that she could be there before Narcissa and actually make the introduction when Narcissa arrived with punctuality so sharp it could pop a balloon.

She decided to pull out one of her ley line textbooks and work on her reading for next week’s lesson. She had already finished her first read through, but there were one or two things she wanted to review in order to keep the questions fresh for Tuesday’s lesson. Hermione was determined not to lose track of time.

A moment or two later she looked up from her text because the room was impossibly bright. It was Viktor’s ovcharka patronus and it looked at her, tilted its head to the side and said,  _ “Hermione, are you reading?” _

_ “OH, SHIT!”  _ she exclaimed, looked at her watch, saw that it was five past the hour, and dashed to the fireplace, tossing her book on the round table as she went. 

“Oh, shit,” she breathed, looking at the empty jar of floo powder. How had she let it get so low? She took the jar down and tapped it. 

Hermione exhaled in relief. There was just enough left for one trip. And she almost left it until later to tell the Twins about it. Almost. Again.

“Tampy?”

“Yes, miss?” the elf in the tie-dyed pillow slip asked, suddenly beside her.

“Can you or Pampy go out and purchase some more floo powder today, before this evening?”

“Yes, miss. We can do this before noon.”

“Excellent. Please do lay in an extra supply, and would you keep my jar filled?”

“Yes, miss. Not a problem.” Tampy left, and then so did Hermione.

Happily her wand was already stowed, or she would have forgotten that, too.

When she arrived she wanted to gush her apologies all over everyone, but she restrained herself and merely apologized the one time and thanked Viktor when he wandlessly cleaned her of soot that she had totally forgotten covered her from head to toe.

Viktor, ever the gentleman, took Hermione’s arm, apologized for preemptively introducing himself to her patroness, and they all walked through Ely’s wizarding quarter together. As Viktor guided them to the restaurant at which he had reservations, Narcissa complimented him on his ease with wandless magic.

This led to a conversation that Hermione needed to participate in not at all, and so allowed her to take some deep breaths and get her bearings. She was embarrassed, and her cheeks were still pink and likely to stay that way for a while. Still, both of the people she was with were unfailingly polite in ways Hermione was not used to, having dealt so heavily in the past with children who were not polite, teachers who needed to hold strict boundaries, and rather brusque adults who were more used to treating her like one of their miscreant children than a decent young lady who was reasonably brought up and at least moderately well-behaved.

Well, moderately well-behaved upon occasion, when the occasion merited it.

By the time Hermione was calm enough to engage in conversation, she did so and the conversation flowed with ease. Nothing violent or ugly was mentioned and everyone was exceedingly polite and engaged. Hermione might never know what Narcissa really thought, but she was curious to privately discover Viktor’s impressions of her head of house.

They discussed academics and Hermione’s various tutored subjects, and which of those Viktor might also have an interest in, which led to conversations about masteries, and how much one might be able to achieve with private study.

When Hermione asked after Draco, and how the wine harvest was faring, the conversation shifted, but Hermione would have never been able to tell that Viktor was at all irked with the man, or had recently signed a jersey ‘for my favorite ferret, Viktor’. 

He wouldn’t be back until the end of the month, for he was finishing up in Burgundy, but would be shifting his attention to their fields in Champagne in a day or so where harvesting would begin soon, and Hermione made a note of his address there, for she had the next care package nearly ready.

When Hermione expressed - quite truthfully - how much she had enjoyed her exchange of letters and packages with him over the last month, Narcissa looked thoroughly gratified. When Hermione expressed - quite truthfully - that she felt they were becoming better friends, Narcissa’s smile seemed quite genuine, and put all of her other polite smiles quietly to shame. And then Hermione eased into her ask as craftily as possible.

“Won’t you consider inviting us to dinner once Draco is returned so that Viktor can get to know him better?” She almost said more, but left it at that.

Seamlessly and with no emotion other than the same polite interest she had displayed throughout their meal with few exceptions, Narcissa agreed that it would be a delightful idea, and that when Draco was once more returned, they could both expect to receive an invitation, perhaps at the end of the month, perhaps as late as the first week of November.

Viktor betrayed not a hint of anything he was surely feeling, nor did Narcissa, so Hermione did her best to keep all of her smugness off of her features. She could replay it later to Ginny and Luna and crow, then.

And she did.

* * *

_ October 3, 199_  
_ _ Hogwarts Castle _

_ Dear NEAB, _

_ Before you throw a fit, Viktor only agreed to it if he could inscribe it in the way he wanted. I’m afraid you did not make the best impression on him that year, as he had been quietly in love with me the whole time. (Who knew?) But chin up! You did make a very handsome ferret. Everyone said so. _

_ But look at the bright side. You have one of his Inferi jerseys before even I do. I’m still making due with his Vratsa one. _

_ I, Hermione JGB Pendragon, would have stunned you with the smooth and cunning nature of the way I just invited myself to your house for dinner for when you’re back in-country, and it has the added benefit of providing an opportunity for you and Viktor to smooth things over in polite company. I won’t give you a full recounting of the event. I’ll let you get your mother’s opinion, first. But suffice it to say I was terribly smooth, and I’m awfully proud of myself. Naturally I couldn’t crow at the time, so I saved it all up for later. You’re welcome. _

_ Never having had siblings before, but certain I might have punched one in the face at some point, I have to say you’re not too bad for a not-exactly-a-brother. Keep up the good work!  _

_ And send more cheese! _

_ Your loving NEAS,  
_ _ Hermione _

_ PS - Luna has dropped the obscure references for reasons of her own and seems to be on the cusp of Enlightenment. Her intuition is stunningly accurate and she is unaccountably wise. She is also fascinated by viticulture. Visually, I think you two would be a matched set and produce gorgeous children, but that’s just my plebeian opinion. I shall drop a hint about an interview with you in my galumphing leonine way, which she is quite used to. _

_ PPS - I presume you will have no pressing business to attend to elsewhere over New Years, as I would like to invite you to my wedding, and to be a special guest at my coronation. And if you do have pressing business, cancel it, won’t you? If not for me, then at least for the quidditch exhibition games. _

* * *

It had been a full weekend, and Hermione had planned to not study at Black Cottage with Viktor this Sunday, as she had last, and hopefully would regularly as time went on. But still, she had breakfast with him and Narcissa in the morning, and now she was back in the lobby of his hotel, waiting for him to come down so they could portkey to his parent’s estate, The Rosary. The Twins knew to listen hard for her in a few hours, when she would call them to her and have them memorize the place, so travel could be even easier.

Hermione thought she probably ought to be a lot more nervous than she was, but somehow… she just wasn’t. Yes, she was dressed to the nines, and finally her little black beaded purse fit in with something she was wearing - the dress from Narcissa, in black. It wasn’t a dress fit for a wand sheath, and her current belt didn’t really quite go with the black look, so she just put it in her purse, along with everything else she might need in the normal course of events, and then all those she might need in an emergency. Ginny had vetoed the red boots and instead loaned her a pair of black three inch heels. And then she had to practice walking in them, as it had been a while.

And this was after Ginny had taken a half hour of dedicated effort to tame her hair into perfect ringlets in soft waves. It wasn't as good as it could get with more time, more product, and more swearing, but it was very good all the same. Still, she had insisted on no make up. And Hermione had insisted on wearing her Concordia corsage.

She had started out sitting properly, but by her nineteenth year, Hermione Granger, whomever else she was called and whatever else she became, had an instinctive urge to curl up while reading in comfortable chairs. And so she did. Without thinking much about it, mid-way through her fifth paragraph read during that session, she had kicked her heels off and tucked her feet underneath her. Mid-way through the tenth paragraph read she had scootched around and curled up, propping the book up on her knees. From a certain angle, her head could not be seen.

It wasn’t that her ley lines book was so very interesting. It was more that her tutor was a bit of a dud and she needed the time to do extra reading in addition to the rather silly texts assigned to her, which at this point she was just skimming. And at the moment, she was reading quite intently, because apparently the most advanced ley line magic known to the wizarding world happened in Asia. Each culture had their own spin on it, but possibly it began in China, where ley lines were understood as the chi meridians of the world. She had just gotten to the point where they were explaining the theory of blocked chi and how one would go about softening and dissolving blockages and it was becoming so very clear to her that she needed to figure out how to study in China-

“Hermione,” Viktor’s voice called to her, floating over the top of her book and she could tell before looking that he was grinning at her. It was all there, in his voice.  She folded her book down and saw him smile at her, and it took a moment for her to blink and shift gears. She made a mental note to figure out how to study in China at some point and then put her book back in her purse. She unfolded herself and slipped Ginny’s heels back on her feet before accepting Viktor’s hand. As she stood she pulled herself in close to him and sighed a little when he kissed her hand.

“Good evening, Viktor.”

“Good evening, my Myon. You are looking quite beautiful. Have you finished all your work for the week, or should we end this evening earlier for you?”

They still stood quite close, and their conversation was hushed. 

“No, I’m done. And I’m all yours for the night. Well. You know.”

His smile was an intimate thing. “Yes. I do. Now tell me, do you travel well by portkey, or is it very uncomfortable for you?”

“Well,” Hermione began, taking a deep breath. “I’ve never managed to stay upright, and if I don’t hold on to my shoes rather than wear them, I might break my ankle. But I’ve never  _ actually  _ vomited afterwards.”

Viktor seemed to be thinking about that. Then he let go of her hand and unpinned the corsage he wore, or more particularly, the silver brooch. He took the Concordia out and handed it to her and held the brooch in his hand with his thumb over the opening to keep the water inside.

“Right. You hold the rose. I hold you. You keep your shoes on. Agreed?”

Hermione just looked at him. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely certain, Myon. Do you agree?”

“I… wait, that’s the portkey, isn’t it?” she whispered to him, glancing at his closed fist.

His smile was crooked. “Always have a way to go home.”

Hermione’s eyes widened. “Is that registered?” she asked, her whisper barely audible. International portkeys needed to be registered, if you managed to make one strong enough.

“Such things do not bother Mama. But she is very good at it. Come. We are expected,” he said and scooped her up, one arm supporting her back, one arm underneath her knees. His free hand gripped her side very firmly and the hand with the portkey in it curled as far around her legs as his wrist would allow.

Hermione wrapped one arm firmly around his neck and held onto her purse and his rose with the other and curled her body into him. Her last thought before her insides tried to switch places with her outsides was that he smelled particularly good tonight.

Her first thought once in Bulgaria was of peace. Possibly because they were gently coming down right next to acres and acres of white and pastel Concordias and the scent of them perfumed the air quite thoroughly.

Viktor landed quite gently and set her down on her feet but held her for a long moment. He did not kiss her, he did not speak, he just allowed her a moment to herself to get her bearings again and she was profoundly grateful.

Finally she took a deep breath and brought his white rose to her nose, took another deep breath and kissed the petals of it. She held it out toward him in the close space between them and he released his hold on her. Quickly he put the rose back in the brooch and the brooch back on his lapel.

“Welcome to the Rosary, Myon,” he said, offering her his arm. “Some people prefer to have their fields far from their manor house, but this has never been our desire.”

Hermione turned with Viktor to see a large rough-hewn stone house of quite significant size standing before her.

She looked up at him and smiled. “I can see why you want to plant me a rose garden. I can’t imagine not wanting to take this peace with you, wherever you go.”

He nodded, and his was an easy smile. He led her silently toward the house and the door opened as they approached. Still, there was no one around and so it must have either been a preset spell for when family approached, or it was just more wandless, wordless magic on Viktor’s part. Either was very impressive.

“Viktor?” A woman’s voice called out, and shortly after that Sofia Krum emerged from an open door and walked out into the entrance hall and suddenly all of Hermione’s nerves and anxiety about meeting her mother-in-law decided to show up after all.

_ My God she was intimidating. _

Hermione took very quiet deep breaths. No one was going to kill her. This was not an ancient manor house in which she would be tortured. The fact that the last person she met who radiated this much sheer magical power  _ did torture her in an ancient manor house  _ was perhaps not helping, but Sofia Krum was sane and disposed to like her. And she grew roses used in peace negotiations, for heaven’s sake.

And Hermione had lured her son away from her.  _ Fuck. _

Deep breathing continued as Hermione tried to calm herself, or at least give the appearance of being happy to be there. Realizing she wasn’t going to succeed at either one (Hermione always tried to be a realist about things), she consoled herself with the fact that Viktor’s impeccable manners came from somewhere, and so at the very least Mrs. Krum would never remark on the fact that Hermione looked like she wanted to run away.

A movement of the air brought a breeze in from the front of the house and Hermione was again awash in the calming scent of hundreds and hundreds of white concordia in bloom.

She could do this. She could be calm, she could be pleasant. She was safe now.

“Hermione, my dear. I am so glad you are here,” Sofia said, greeting her first with her hands outstretched. Her accent was thicker than her son’s, but English came easily to her. Hermione unlatched herself from the life support that was Viktor’s arm and took her mother-in-law’s hands and was calmer than she would have imagined a few moments before as she leaned in and got an actual kiss on each cheek. None of this air-kiss business for Sofia Krum, apparently.

“Thank you for inviting me, Mrs. Krum,”

Sofia smiled, and it transformed her face. She was clearly older than Hermione’s own mother, though with witches and wizards and their extended lifetime it was not always easy for her to gauge the ages of the older people around her. But Sofia Krum had clearly been a beautiful young woman and it was all still there when she smiled.

It was easier not to be terrified of her, when she smiled.

Still holding on to Hermione’s hands, she looked to Viktor who leaned in and kissed her on the cheek once.

“Good evening, Mama,” he said, and Hermione could hear the small smile in his voice.

“Mm. Viktor. Go pry your Papa out of his library and bring him to the drawing room, hm? If he offers you a drink instead, you have my permission to threaten him with the invasion of France.”

Hermione tried very hard not to laugh. It didn’t quite work.

Sofia linked their arms and steered her in the other direction.

“But I’ve solemnly sworn to Viktor that I  _ wouldn’t  _ invade France,” Hermione said with a smile, feeling all the tension of her first arrival to the house flood away.

Sofia laughed and Hermione had sudden and startling insight into her beloved Viktor. With a mother like Sofia, it was little wonder he was never put off by her intelligence or her assertiveness.  _ He was a man who actually felt comfortable around strong women, rather than threatened by them. _

And Hermione was comfortable enough that when Sofia put a small glass of something in her hand and insisted that she be called either Sofia or Mama, it was easy to just call her Mama. She wasn’t replacing her own mother with Sofia any more than she was with Narcissa. But it was no bad thing, Hermione decided, to be surrounded by strong women who wanted to love and support her.

It was no bad thing at all.

* * *

It was after dinner that Hermione had asked about the legends attached to the  _ other  _ roses. After all, the legend of St. Concordia was so beautiful, so inspiring, that there had to be some sort of similar story for the red empassionatas.

And then she watched a subtle exchange she didn’t quite understand between the Krums… and then  _ Viktor blushed, _ which confused her significantly. Perhaps there was no story after all, or not a very pleasant one. 

Oops.

“It is late for you, and Hermione must go to class in the morning,” Sofia said, instead of answering her. “We will say goodnight now, but Viktor, why don’t you take her to the gazebo and tell her that story? It is a beautiful night. Don’t linger too long before you travel back.”

Something was going on, Hermione just had no idea what it was. Whatever it was, Viktor had a spontaneous coughing fit, so it must have been really  _ quite _ something. Whatever it was.

They said their goodbyes and it felt very nice to get solid hugs from her in-laws, besides the kisses on each cheek. When Viktor guided her out into the entrance hall, and then back out the great front doors, Hermione was quiet. She was bursting with questions, in a way, but she knew that it would all become clear eventually, so there was less pressure to ask them all immediately. He walked them out and off to the side until they were at the edge of the field of white roses, and then he took a left and the followed the line of the garden until they approached the  _ other  _ roses which she could see clearly now, her eyes having adjusted to the waning crescent moon after the long, silent walk.

They turned down a path between the concordias and the empassionatas, and Hermione let out a shuddering breath.

“How on  _ earth _ did you grow up so near to these flowers and stay sane, Viktor?”

He chuckled lowly. “Lust is something openly discussed in my family. It has to be.”

Hermione thought about that for a moment. “So, did you parents just send us out here to have a shag, then?”

“In their love nest, no less,” Viktor responded, clearing his throat afterwards.

“I… don’t know how I feel about that,” Hermione responded entirely honestly.

“Likewise,” Viktor said, and his voice sounded amusingly pained. Or it might have been amusing, if Hermione wasn’t actively breathing in  _ both  _ concordias  _ and  _ empassionatas and was remembering what Viktor had said about that sort of thing inducing confusing emotions, or marathon sex.

Well, she wasn’t confused anymore. Not even by her in-laws at this point.

“I presume the story of the empassionata involves sex?” Hermione asked as the path curved, following the outlines of the attendant fields, and a small white ramshackle wooden gazebo came into view a few hundred feet down the path. It looked quaint and rustic, but she wouldn’t call it love nest material, save for the fortunate location down Marathon Sex Lane.

“Of course.”

Just then Hermione remembered something. “Do you still have your gentleman’s charm on? Because I’m not enduring this by myself, you know.”

Viktor sighed and cancelled the charm and then groaned. Still, they kept walking. Her fingers squeezed his arm and he hissed.

“Why don’t you distract yourself by telling me the story?”

They stepped into the gazebo and of course it was quite different on the inside. A bit larger, but not much. Gauzy curtains that blew in the breeze. There was a large, firm, extra wide reclining couch reminiscent of the beds in the orgy rooms of the New Palace and an older-model racing broom in the room, and that was it.

Clearly Hermione was not the first one to realize a racing broom’s potential as sex toy.

Viktor led her to the bed and she perched on the edge of it, but then he went across the small space, set the broom at the right height and sat down over there, rather than next to her.

When he crossed his arms over his chest and scowled, Hermione almost laughed.

“We can leave,” she pointed out gamely. “We don’t have to stay. You can tell me the story later. Or in a letter. Or not at all. Viktor, it’s okay.”

He cleared his throat. “No, I tell you now.” He closed his eyes and cleared his throat again. “Many centuries after we became the caretakers of Concordia, there was a younger brother who did not much like roses and did not much like people. There was a darkness in him, made more bitter by his life, and as we consider more charitably now, he had many difficulties being a gay man in a straight world. There were arguments and disagreements between he and his family, and though as the legend goes, his darkness and his sexuality are inextricably entwined, we know now this must not be the case. He was just a dark wizard, and he wanted to hurt people. The fact that all of his many lovers were men, eh. It was a fluke of fate. But the pleasures of sex were the only ones he was interested in, and soon sex and revenge against his family were the only things on his mind. So he planned a blood magic ritual - oh yes, one of the dark ones, Myon - with his primary lover who was not such a bad person, just deeply in love with this idiot ancestor of mine. And so while the angry brother planned and plotted, his faithful lover counter-planned and counter-plotted, to try and save him from himself, or at least save his family from revenge that was perhaps too harsh for the crimes against him. In the end, the angry brother planned an orgy of his lovers and at the peak of everyone’s desire and fornication, specifically before anyone had an opportunity to achieve release, he would perform his brief ritual and turn himself and everyone else into the opposite of the concordia. A flower that would induce a madness of raging lust that could never be quenched.”

“That’s horrible,” Hermione whispered. A flower that would induce rape?  _ Oh, God. _

“Yes. And it did not happen, thank God. His lover had counter-plotted and recruited the other prospective participants of the orgy into his plan, for they all loved the dark and angry man, and they were all willing to sacrifice themselves in order to protect him from himself. Everyone achieved release before the ritual was complete, everyone but the angry brother, and everyone did so with the utter devotion of a martyr in their heart, except for the angry brother. 

“And so this is what the rose does, now. For those with darkness in their hearts and a desire to hurt others, it whispers love, which can apparently be extremely confusing, even off-putting, I am told. Mixed with the concordia, for these people, there is great confusion, indeed. For those who are devoted to one another, it promises a release sweeter than ever before, and it delivers. Mixed with the concordia, it keeps delivering. For those who are neither dark, nor yet devoted, it speaks of what love may yet be for them, and mixed with the concordia it teaches a deep lesson in the truth of love.”

“And what is the truth of love, Viktor?” Hermione asked, pushing her hormones away for another long moment, because this,  _ this  _ she needed to hear.

“It is patient and kind. It does not put itself first. It wishes only the best and wants only the highest for the other, but not as a solitary gift only one may receive. It is meant for all in all. All are deserving of it, even the darkest of wizards, even the most foolish of men. True love is not in only one relationship, expressed only one way. It is everywhere, in every relationship, and there is a great equality in true love, truly expressed.”

They were beautiful words, but something had dawned on Hermione.

“You gave me three dozen empassionatas. Before I was certain that I loved you.”

Viktor grinned. “Yes. And your response gave me great hope. You did  _ not  _ become philosophical about love, nor were you greatly conflicted by your own emotions.”

“I crawled over you and kissed you soundly,” Hermione said, her voice perhaps just a tad bit accusing in tone.

“I remember,” Viktor said, grinning widely.

“If I wasn’t so profoundly horny right now, I might be quite upset with you.”

“But?” His voice shot straight down her spine.

“Given the circumstances, I just want to say to hell with blood rituals, and get this show on the road.”

Viktor smirked. “How about I come over there and give you many orgasms, instead?”

“Deal.”

He put the broom back and once he got to her, he sank to his knees. His hands caressed her bare ankles. She hadn’t worn stockings this evening and sent a quick thought of thanks to Ginny for arguing against them.

“Do you want me to take the dress off?” she asked breathlessly. She was so incredibly wet. They had been in the shadow of the valley of marathon sex  _ without so much as touching each other _ for at least the last ten minute and while she hadn’t been specifically aroused, per se, during dinner, she had been extremely aware of how utterly beautiful Viktor was dressed for a formal dinner with his parents. Really, from the moment he held her close before picking her up, before the portkey, she’d been more than just a bit turned on and now?  _ Now?  _ So incredibly wet.

“Mm. No. You’ve looked so beautiful all night in this dress. I very much want to fuck you in it.”

Hermione gasped and her breath became audible as his hands moved higher.

“Mm,” Viktor moaned slightly, grinning as he briefly met her eyes, as his hands slid under her dress. “I love the sounds you make. Shall we see if I can make you scream, yet?”

She wiggled as he pushed her dress up past her hips, though she still sat just on the edge of the large, flat couch. He drew the black lace thong off her and put it in his pocket.

“Did you bring the time turner?”

“Yes, it’s in my purse,” Hermione gasped.

“Three hours?” he asked.

“Three hours,” she agreed with a grin.

“And the time?” he prompted, testing her level of arousal with questing fingers.

“Right. Right. It’a ah, ah, ah- ah, fuck.”

“Your watch is more accurate than I thought,” he murmured just before pressing his face between her thighs and beginning to lick.

Hermione stared at her watch for a full minute before she could process what she was looking at. “Seven forty-three,” she finally gasped.

He moaned into her, his tongue doing beautiful things, but not going  _ inside  _ of her, working over the head of her clit, but not  _ sucking it inside his mouth.  _ It hadn’t bothered her much in the past week because a good orgasm was a good orgasm, and Viktor was very good at giving her a good orgasm, but right now it bothered her so much she wanted to scream in frustration.

She screamed when her orgasm struck, instead. And when she came down, she didn’t come down very far. And the need for the taboo, the need to be  _ penetrated  _ and to  _ penetrate  _ was so overwhelming she almost wanted to cry, knowing they weren’t going to do it.

She pushed his head away gently.

“Your turn,” she breathed, pushing him farther back and then slipping down to the floor with him, crawling over him. “And then we need to get the hell out of here.”

She straddled him, her naked hips over his clothed ones and started rubbing and writhing and riding him.

“Why?” he asked, his tone incredulous. He bucked his hips and his length rubbed against her clit  _ so beautifully. _

“Because in two more minutes I’m going to beg you to fuck me with your hard cock in every hole I have and I’m going to beg so beautifully, so explicitly, that you’re going to do it over and over and over until I’ve had enough.”

Viktor arched as he came underneath her chanting her name and his consent to this idea.

The moment he finished Hermione jumped off of him, pulled the hem of her dress back down, grabbed her purse off the bed and took the few steps to the door.

“Up,” she demanded. “Now.”

Viktor groaned from the floor.

“Viktor, I swear to God, if you don’t get up right this instant I’m going to come over there and suck your cock until you come another two times.”

He rolled over and began to slowly push himself up, while groaning. “Not as motivating as you might imagine, Myon.”

Once he was almost entirely upright she grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the gazebo and then sprinted, pulling him along at first. They ran flat out until they came out of the garden entirely. A hundred paces away, Hermione stopped and leaned over, her hands on her knees.

“Tampy! Pampy!” she gasped out.

They arrived and looked at her curiously. “Is Miss alright?” Pampy asked.

“Perfectly lovely,” she gasped. “Just decided to go for a run. You know. An after dinner run. In heels. Just to keep my hand in. This is the back garden of The Rosary. Will you memorize it for me?”

Both elves closed their eyes for a moment. They opened them at the same time and responded at the same time. “Yes, Miss.”

“Right. Will you take us back to Black Cottage, please?”

Pampy snapped her fingers, and they four were there.

“Thank you so much,” Hermione said, still bent over but not quite as gasping as she was a moment before. And the air was markedly devoid of any floral scent. “I’ll be along in a few minutes. Will one of you draw me a bath? And put the red roses back in their special case?”

“Yes, Miss.” And they were both gone.

There was silence and heavy breathing, but not the kind that either of them appreciated most.

“What just happened?” Viktor croaked, pulling Hermione up and into his arms.

She burst into tears and for the life of her she wasn’t clear on why until she sobbed out, “ _ I was going to break my promise!” _

He held her and stroked her back. “I’m sorry, Myon. I thought it would be okay.”

“What were your parents  _ thinking?” _ she sobbed.

“Probably that we were so in love that we weren’t waiting until the wedding,” he said softly.

“I wanted you so badly it  _ hurt,”  _ she said, continuing to sob.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Myon,” Viktor said, and he sounded broken.

“Don’t apologize! Dammit, Viktor!” she yelled into his chest. “Don’t you get it? That’s what’s always there, underneath it all, only I couldn’t stop myself. It was so overwhelming and I couldn’t stop myself.”

“But you did, Myon. You did. Come. Give us more time. And let me just hold you.”

She fished for her time machine in her bag and found the well-padded cloth bag she had packed it in. It took a moment to get arranged, but when she did she spun the knob three times and the room blurred around them. She very carefully wrapped it back up and stowed it in her purse.

He held her close again. “Is it safe for me to hold you as we lay on the bed, or would the lawn be better?” he asked quietly, and she could still hear the deep sadness in his voice.

“Either is fine,” she whispered, feeling a modicum of control again. “Whichever you prefer.”

He kissed the top of her head and released her enough so that they could walk side by side. He had one arm around her waist and his other hand held one of hers.

“I have a blanket,” she murmured, and he released her hand enough for her to use them both to dig in her purse. She had two blankets, as a matter of fact, both reduced in size. She took both of them out, along with her wand and handed Viktor her purse. She ended the spell on each one and they sat side by side on one and wrapped the other around their shoulders. The warming spells would last longer, now.

Hermione laid her wand and her purse next to her on the blanket and put her head on Viktor’s shoulder, and then adjusted when he wrapped his arm around her underneath the blanket that swaddled them.

“I feel terrible about this, Myon,” he said quietly. “I am so ashamed that you were hurt by my actions this evening.”

Hermione quietly put her hand on his thigh and rubbed it in what she hoped was a soothing manner. She wanted to tell him that it was okay, it was all fine… but she couldn’t lie to Viktor. It did hurt, and not in a nice, sexy way. And while they both made decisions, some of hers were based on trusting his judgement.

“I am sure,” she quietly said, “that when we are utterly free to explore every aspect of our sexuality that we wish to, three hours in that gazebo is going to be a beautiful experience. And if we had, in our right minds, decided to mutually forego our promises to refrain from penetrative orgasm, there wouldn’t have been an issue then, either.” She took a deep breath. “And for the rest, I forgive you.”

His free hand covered his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Myon,” he whispered.

“I know. And that’s why I forgive you,” she said softly.

“Then why do I still feel terrible?” he asked, his voice breaking.

“I think this is the part where you have to forgive yourself. Possibly. I wouldn’t really know, actually. I’m crap at this part, myself.”

He huffed a little laughter, which was what she had hoped for. She tugged his hand down and when he looked at her, his eyes were red rimmed. She kissed his hand and placed it on her cheek and held it there. “Hey. I love you. You really don’t have to feel guilty about discovering that I do, in fact, want to fuck you into next week.”

His smile was brief and small, but it was there.

“Will you tell me what it’s like for you? Because maybe you’ve just got heaps more self-control than I do, and I have crap willpower.”

“Mm.” He didn’t speak for a while, but he did look pensive, which was maybe a step in the right direction. “I think,” he said very quietly when he finally did speak, “that I do have more self-control, but you have far greater willpower.”

Hermione blinked. “Viktor, they’re synonyms.”

“Close, but perhaps not perfect. Consider it. Every moment of every day for the last four years I have been bombarded with, as you say, a tsunami of lust for you. And in my family, we can talk about that. There is no shame. And my parents, they teach me how to deal with it. I learn how to control this inner dog that just wants to spend all its time humping your leg.”

Here Hermione laughed despite herself.

“And I still feel it all the time, but I have learned self-control. And when I am surrounded by empassionatas and concordias both there is no sudden tidal wave, because there is  _ always _ the tidal wave. There is just the added desire to jump off my surfboard at the worst possible moment. But if you told me I had to get out of the water entirely? Hell, no. And it seems, maybe, like you felt the full force of your tidal wave for the first time, the relentless nature of it, and the desire to jump off a surfboard you could barely stay on to begin with. But something inside of you screamed for you to get out of the water, get out of the water entirely. And you did. You did immediately, and you dragged me out, too, for which I thank you. There was no self-control for you, and how could there be if all the other waves were tame in comparison? But there was profound willpower. Willpower enough for both of us, Myon.”

Hermione sighed. “I like the metaphor. It’s hard to hear that I have no self-control, but I see your point. When would I have learned it? I mean, I crushed on an idiot teacher when I was thirteen, I had no idea what to do with my tumultuous feelings for you when I was fifteen, after that I squashed any nascent hopes I might have had for you because you lived so far away and spent on and off the next three years being confused and jealous when Ron would give me attention and then go fuck off with someone else. And last year was just an unmitigated hell in which sex, love, and desire were totally dead to me. And if you’d asked me before the gazebo, I would have said that I’d already hit peak desire. I mean, I’d already experienced as much desire for you as I possibly could, and it could get that good again, but that nothing could possibly be greater, or more.”

“And then you experienced more,” he said quietly.

“And then I experienced more,” she agreed. “And it terrified me. I felt so out of control, and… I liked it. The thought of having penetrative sex was wonderful. The thought of breaking my promise was horrifying. And I had such intense visualizations all at once, how it could be done, how I could get you to break your promise, too. What I would need to say and how I would need to say it. It was all laid out there for me, as clear as day. And Viktor, I still kind of want to say it. It’s like it’s burning in my mouth and if I don’t tell you, I’ll lose something beautiful and precious and we’ll never have good sex again.”

“Shall I give you your first lesson in surfing the tidal wave, instead?”

“Probably a better idea than me begging you for sex.”

“Close your eyes. Slow your breathing, if you can.”

She did so, and relaxed into him. He held her tighter and she relaxed even moreso.

“Today is very first lesson. Today we only try to notice.”

She had really hoped to skip the first lessons and go straight for surfing the big waves.

“Look back at that intense desire you felt, then. Feel some of the distance now, between what you felt then, and who you are now. Can you feel the distance, Myon?”

She followed his instructions and there was distance. It felt nice, safe, to know it.

“The distance offers you some safety to look very closely at what you felt. Nod if you can feel the distance and the safety.”

Hermione nodded and kept breathing deeply.

“Now look at your desire. We talk of waves and dogs, but put that aside for a moment. What does your desire look like to you? What does it feel like?”

Only a moment of consideration was necessary. “It’s fiendfyre,” she breathed. “Totally out of control, beautiful at first, but then terrifying, wanting to consume everything, including me.”

“Breathe, Myon. You are safe. You have distance. It cannot consume you. Breathe.”

She breathed, and let his words comfort her. In and out, and she felt her shoulders relax again.

“Today,” he said gently, “we just notice. And you have done very well. What have you learned from this lesson?”

“My own desire terrifies me,” Hermione said, her brow crinkled in consternation. Well, that was illuminating in a way she hadn’t expected.

“Yes. It does now. But we will work on this, Myon, and it will not always do so.”

Hermione made a little disappointed grunt. “Does this mean we can’t have sexy fun times until we figure this out?”

She heard his little snort of laughter in the dark, and was glad that he was feeling better. “No, Myon. But it does mean that if you are overwhelmed, we slow down, or pause. And no mixing the roses, yet.”

Hermione leaned further in and reached up to him. “Then kiss me, Viktor. And tell me how much you love me.”

“Oh, Myon,” he sighed. And then he did just as he was told.


	20. Chapter 17: Wherein there is personal growth.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes personal growth occurs at inconvenient times. Sometimes we are given to understand there are no inconvenient times, just now. And now is always when personal growth occurs.

Viktor panted and groaned as he lay naked on the bed, his shoulders propped up by pillows so he could see _everything_. Hermione was wearing her jewelry, her matching lacy teal bra and knickers, and her red knee-high boots, and she was kneeling over his legs and currently licking.

“Stop,” Viktor gasped, and Hermione checked her watch. 

She shifted her head and ran her nose up his groin and past his hip, quietly nuzzling.

“Okay, go,” Viktor said, breathing deeply, and Hermione checked her watch.

She returned her attention to the stiff rod that was jutting proudly and expectantly out to her. She took a gentle grip on it and started pumping slowly up and down before leaning over, settling herself a bit more comfortably, and licking the tip again. She had just gotten comfortable in a good rhythm when Viktor gasped for her to stop. She did so immediately, and checked her watch.

This went on for another delicious half hour before Viktor pulled himself upright and began slowly taking off her bra as she continued to work on him, and just moments after he tossed the garment to the floor he had to gasp out for her to stop again.

Hermione checked her watch and sat back. “So, it’s my turn then?” she asked, grinning.

“Da,” Viktor said in agreement, possibly not realizing he hadn’t said it in English. 

He pulled her down beside him and pulled her boots off one by one, giving each foot in turn a bit of a massage after her socks were gone.

His fingers skimmed over her skin and Hermione started to shiver and shake. Viktor cooed at her softly, encouraging her to relax into the feeling and she took deep breaths as he used the broader strokes of his palms more to soothe than arouse. Only a few minutes later Hermione was sighing in pleasure and he went looking for more erogenous zones to document and study. Tonight he was focused on her arms, again, and Hermione wondered how on earth the inside of her elbow could actually bring her this close to orgasm when he hadn’t really touched the rest of her body all that much.

They had discussed quite intensely last week exactly what blood rituals they wanted to do on their wedding night, and Hermione had later verified with Ginny that Viktor knew a fair few more than Ginny’s mother had ever shared with her, and little confusion as to why that was.

While the muggle concept of virginity was not one in favor in the wizarding world as she knew it, Hermione could see how the promise of being able to do a bit of powerful magic on your wedding night that could materially help you throughout the rest of your life could be not only useful, but a nice carrot for parents of older children to dangle in front of them to keep rampant promiscuity at bay. And the power was in the ritual itself, and fulfilling its requirements, and was not at all based on whether or not the witch or wizard themselves had a great grasp of magic.

All the same, Ginny was aware of a single ritual with three options, all benevolent.

Viktor had researched it deeply and was aware of a four-level ritual with at least three options at each level, and some of them were more than a little dark. Ginny’s ritual was Viktor’s second level.

It was all based on the number of penetrations coupled with the number of orgasms, of course, and if you did the ritual totally wrong, nothing bad happened, but you couldn’t redo it. And if you did the ritual slightly wrong, you might have just picked a darker option on that level, and were stuck with it, or combatting it for life, like a curse.

Really, blood magic and wild sexual abandon did not readily mix, not if you didn’t want to have extremely permanent, potentially unfortunate results. The legend of the empassionata was a particularly good case in point.

So, Viktor was on a three month quest to learn Hermione’s body well enough that he could turn her on, keep her aroused, and get her ready for orgasm in a timely manner.

Hermione in turn was leading the way in the stamina drills and learning Viktor’s body at the same time, just in much smaller increments, even if she did have the same hour to do it in.

A week in, progress was slow but discernible, and it was the best two hour daily study session either one had ever participated in.

Sometimes when Viktor was crouched over her just in the way Bellatrix had, Hermione would have flashbacks, and then she would tense up and have the exact opposite reaction either one of them hoped for, but rarely did she cry. By the third time it happened, Hermione quietly admitted what was going on for her as Viktor wrapped his body around hers in sympathy and love and whispered sweet and gentle things to her.

This time when it happened, they argued. Hermione didn’t want some positions to just be verboten simply because she couldn’t manage the memories, and she pushed for intensely revisiting it over and over until she was finally desensitized. Viktor heartly disagreed, pointed out they had plenty of time and plenty of other positions, and that this should be done gently and not be forced.

They did not agree to disagree, but rather each one lay on the bed not touching the other, outrage simmering just under a thick layer of annoyance as they tried to be reasonable and continue talking about it.

Finally Hermione looked at her watch and realized she had just enough time to put clothes on and get going and not be late. Yes, she had a time turner, but she was trying to be responsible about its use and she sometimes wondered if using it for this sex study with Viktor was quite as responsible as others would hope for her.

“I’ve got to go,” she said, her emotions still all mixed up inside of her. She felt terrible for being so annoyed with him, but she also couldn’t seem to get _over_ it. And he seemed no less stubborn than she was.

Was this their first fight?

She started putting clothes on quickly.

“Hermione, wait,” Viktor said, and when she looked over at him briefly, saw that he was sitting up on the bed, running one hand through his hair in frustration, naked as the day he was born.

Hermione, in fact, did not wait, but pulled her jeans on.

“This is not a good thing, leaving it like this, and going away.”

“Yes, well, needs must,” Hermione said, pointedly ignoring the way he wordlessly stared at the time turner as she put it back around her neck, then quickly pulled her shirt on over it.

“Please do not leave yet. Let us resolve this pain between us.”

She yanked her boots on as he spoke. Pulling her sweater over her head, she responded. “It’s fine. We had a disagreement. I love you. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She shoved her wand in its holster and dashed out of the bedroom and down the stairs, pretending that she didn’t hear his shouted expletive in Bulgarian, pretending that it was okay to feel like her heart was breaking, and feeling both an overwhelming guilt for not using the time turner to give them more time and simultaneously an overwhelming guilt for using the time turner _to begin with_ for anything other than giving herself more time to sleep, as Minerva had suggested _and she had agreed._

When she called out the location to travel the floo, her voice quavered, and she realized she was crying.

In the few moments it took to travel from the cottage to her suite at Hogwarts she realized that she had made the exact wrong choice, and everything felt hopeless. When she called Tampy to her to let her know that she was back, and to alert the headmistress, her elf took one look at her and demanded to know what was wrong.

Hermione blubbered, but it came out without too much delay, and all the while Tampy had her thin arms crossed over her little chest.

“No. Miss will go back now and use her time widget. Now.”

Hermione tried to demure, but it was hard through the tears.

Tampy, apparently, lost patience with this and snapped her fingers and brought them both to the main room with the floo connection in time to see Viktor - fully clothed - angrily storm into the room and stop dead at the sight of them, astonishment warring with anger on his face.

“Stupid humans will now be nice to each other,” Tampy proclaimed, her high pitched voice the only sane one in the room. “Use your time widget and go sit outside. Meet me back here in one minute. Tampy will wait for stupid humans to become smart again. Shoo.”

Hermione sniffed through her tears, checked her watch and warily approached Viktor. He still looked thunderously angry, but he held his arms open to her and kissed the top of her head gently as she fished the time turner out and looped it around his head before twisting the knob three times and vanishing.

She never saw Tampy sigh and shake her head, cross her arms over her chest and wait.

* * *

They sat on the lawn in the dark, Viktor’s wandless spellwork keeping them warm in the early October chill of night. For a long time no one spoke, and they both let the sound of the sea sooth something in them that had been bruised by the other.

When Hermione tried to speak, Viktor raised his hand silently to stop her and shook his head sharply.

She lapsed back into silence and took several minutes to nurse _that_ emotional bruise before she decided to take the opportunity afforded her. She stopped worrying about what _he_ might be thinking and feeling and whether or not he was right or wrong and whether or not she was wrong or right, and just tended to herself.

Hermione focused on her breathing, as her mother had taught her to do whenever she was upset. Not that she regularly did so, but she also didn’t regularly have such a huge amount of time set aside just to calm down and make amends. 

Slowly she felt herself calm, her muscles relax. Hermione began focusing more on the sounds of the sea, the soothing rush and fall of the waves breaking against the beach below. The warming charm didn’t allow her to feel the breeze, but she could smell the freshness of the water in the air. She could feel in a very subtle way when she was very still and quiet Viktor’s magic surrounding her, caring for her. After a while she focused entirely on that, reminding herself quite easily how much Viktor loved her, and that even when he was angry with her he still didn’t want to _hurt_ her, which was a far cry from Ron, or even though she loved him, Harry.

“You will promise me now,” Viktor finally said, “that you will not do that again.” His voice was terse and his words very carefully pronounced. “You will not leave when we desperately need to speak, not when you have the means to stay. You will promise this to me, and you will not break your promise.”

Hermione thought about that with a clear head for the first time in a while. She wasn’t sure that it constituted an emergency, not really. Emergencies involved people dying. But she could admit that resolving this pain between them was more important than she had given it credit for being. And what was the use of reserving the time turner for study and sleep alone if she - if they _both -_ were kept up late crying and being upset, instead of sleeping?

Duly considered, she gave her promise.

Viktor sighed audibly. “That was horrible,” he muttered.

Hermione nodded in silent agreement next to him.

“May I touch your hand?” he asked.

Again in silent response, Hermione reached out and held his.

“Will you allow me to tell you why I prefer to go slowly with this?” He asked, his voice only just a little louder than the waves.

“Yes,” she agreed, even though she thought he’d already made his position clear and she already didn’t agree with him.

Viktor carefully and with much more gentleness than before outlined his argument. He wanted her to only associate goodness with him and sex. Her life had been already filled with so much horror, how could he in good conscience induce more in her life? This he tried not to do with people he hated. How could he rationalize doing it to the person he loved more than his own life?

Unfortunately, he made a great deal of sense when they were both calm and rational again.

“I hate that I have this response,” she admitted quietly. “I hate that I can’t get it out of my head. I hate that even though that woman is already long since dead, she lives on and so does her torture of me. All of the inheritance in the world doesn’t make it go away. Nothing does. And if I can’t avoid it, then I just, I just want to _fix_ it. Just rip the bandage off quickly and get it over with.”

She could see him nod silently out of the corner of her eye, her eyes having long since adjusted to the dim light, even this close to the new moon.

“And here,” he said calmly, “is where our disagreement arises. You believe that a quick and hard response is necessary. I believe that a slow and gentle response is necessary. Can we talk about this?”

“Alright. Let’s.”

But then they didn’t. They sat in contemplative silence for a long while, instead.

“I can see,” Hermione said slowly, “that you may be coming from the angle of physical injury, and sports injury. And certainly while quick and hard may be your profession, when it is time to heal it is slow and gentle. That makes sense to me. But this is not a physical injury, it’s a psychological one. And I’ve been slow and gentle almost since it happened, but I still have just as many nightmares, and I still panic and freeze up when something reminds me of that moment.”

“Yes, I see. Now I ask a question and you will take it very seriously, yes?”

“Alright.”

“Have you been slow and gentle since, and actively sought out healing for your psychological wounds, day by day doing all that you could to heal yourself even if it made you uncomfortable or was a nuisance, or have you been slow and gentle and ignoring the wounds whenever you could, facing them only when you couldn’t avoid them any more?”

Hermione sighed. _Dammit._

“I’ve been avoiding them,” she admitted quietly.

“When I had less experience with injury, I would try to play hard after, and it seemed okay at the time. And it took being held accountable by other people who had learned how much harm we can bring on ourselves in such way, it took them saying to me, ‘stop, learn what it is to be kind to yourself, be gentle even when the voice in your head goads you on and calls you soft,’ it took this for me to realize what I must do. And I realized, too, that to be consistently kind and healthy to myself was very hard. I was very impatient and did not want to follow the trainer’s orders, or the healer’s orders, and my mother had to send my father in to yell at me many times. Since your mother is not here to call in your father to yell at you, I am here instead. But I do not wish to yell. I plead with you instead. Please, Hermione. I am here for you. Your friends are here for you. Many people love you, and you would willingly listen to their pain and hold them when they cry. Why can you not do the same? If you want to heal, you must talk about this pain, and when you get lost in your memories I will be there to remind you that it is all over and you are safe, now. And one day you will remember without reliving it. Bravery comes not from pretending it doesn’t hurt. Bravery is putting a gag on Impatience and carefully doing all that is required moment by moment even though every part of you wants to turn away.”

“When did you get so wise?” Hermione asked, determined not to cry again.

“Is all my father. When finally I listen to him, really listen, I become wise. This is only just a recent occurrence.”

She rearranged then, scooting over and sitting between his legs, leaning back on his chest as they both faced the sea. She wasn’t entirely sure she could say some of the things she needed to say and still be able to see his face.

She didn’t talk about Bellatrix, not this time. Hermione talked about carrying the horcrux, living in constant fear, constant doubt, constant self-loathing, and adding starvation and the abandonment of Ron to the pile. She talked about not realizing it was the horcrux that was twisting their minds, not until they finally killed it, and that it _was_ death, a murder, perhaps only one part of a soul, but the murder of a soul all the same. It was the first time she’d helped to kill anyone, but not the last. And then they had to do it over and over again, and it never got better. And even when they did realize it was the horcrux that was gaslighting them, it was still _so convincing._ She spoke of how it took their worst fears about themselves, about other people and quietly proved them all to be the only possible truth. How they took turns being utterly despondent and nearly suicidal only out of desperation and love for the other, so that one person didn’t have to hold on to it too long.

And then she cried and screamed her loathing of Ron and her disgust at herself for ever believing after that that she could love him, for ever kissing him, or imagining a future with him.

Viktor held her as she raged, and as she sobbed, and as she sat in silence once the storm had passed.

“I… I didn’t realize that was all still in there,” she quietly admitted.

“Papa says it stays until it goes, and it only goes when we let it go. Hmm, sounds better in Bulgarian.”

Hermione smiled ruefully for a moment. “It sounds perfectly reasonable and wise in English, my love.” After a long moment, she spoke again. “I didn’t, I mean… I hope that I didn’t let some measure of this go only for you to pick it up.”

Viktor sighed. “Well, I admit a private desire to drop Ron from a very great height and pretend it was not me. And I am a little aggrieved at myself for feeling so pleased to know you will never be tempted to return to him -”

Here Hermione made a small retching noise.

“- which is hard, because it also involves you being betrayed so terribly, which makes me want to go back to the fantasy of shoving him off a broomstick from half a mile up. And then I feel pleased. And so the cycle continues. But now that I have admitted these things to you, I will feel no shame about them and when I see him it will be easy to look him in the eye and know that he cannot hurt you again.

“And for the rest? I have only my little, native doubts that I have ever had to deal with, and can have very little frame of reference to feel anything but love and sorrow for you. Except perhaps that when you are done I can be here with you, with no horcrux in sight, and assure you that that part of your life is now over, and this I can do again and again.

“Have you spoken to Harry about this? He too shared this burden, and he too was left when you were.”

“We’ve spoken a little. I know he feels similarly about Ron. But he has a tendency to want to protect his friends no matter what. I’d say he has some sort of savior complex, but it’s not a complex so much as a reality, and it always has been. And I think if I was too honest with him about how much it hurts, he would too easily take all the pain and guilt on himself for putting me in that position, except that particular misery shared isn’t exactly halved, it’s doubled. Besides, I know he has Ginny to talk to, and she _has_ lived with a horcrux longer than anyone we know. Well, besides Kreacher. And Harry, I guess, in the last years.”

“What is this?”

And Hermione explained that Ginny had spent the better part of eight months having her thoughts twisted, her body possessed, and her mind thoroughly fucked over by Tom’s first horcrux, and how he’d almost managed to possess her entirely and possibly permanently. And this, when she was twelve.

Viktor said something in Bulgarian, and Hermione could tell it was a choice set of words, indeed. “You could,” he said, switching languages, “perhaps speak with Ginny. She might appreciate talking to someone else about it, and you could speak plainly without fear that she will feel guilty.”

Hermione explained about the basilisk.

“Do you hold her responsible for you being petrified?”

“No, not at all. That was entirely Tom,” she answered.

“Have you told her this in no uncertain terms?”

“Er, well, sort of. Just the other day. I mean, I did try to start that conversation, but it didn’t really go anywhere.”

“No matter where it went, perhaps she needed to hear it, and perhaps you needed to say it.”

“You’re very on point with all this advice, I notice.”

“You know Papa would not let me escape into myself after I come home from Hogwarts. Is not because I did not _try._ And this was just one moment, one Imperius curse, one dreadful thing done under it. For this one thing, I take fourteen months to heal with Papa being patient and kind and letting me rage and rage and cry and cry. I cannot describe to you the shame I felt, the horror. I cannot, because it is no longer within me. It is no longer within me because I drain it slowly away over fourteen months. Papa gave me no choice it seemed, but if I had truly rejected his help? I could have moved out. I had job. I had money. Flying angry is almost as good as flying calm. Better in a beater than a seeker, but still okay. Would not have hurt my game too much, but it would have hurt me. And I would not be the man I am today. I would not be worthy of you. 

“But Papa, he says no. ‘No, Viktor, this is important. Trust me and let me guide you,’ so I trust him, and he guides me, and for a great many months it just keeps hurting. And then it starts to get better. You have not the one moment, the one curse, the one dreadful thing. You have moment after moment, year after year, and who have you confided in? Your parents?”

“No,” Hermione said sadly. “I couldn’t. They would have taken me out of Hogwarts if they knew. They would have acted in my best interest, but who was there to act in Harry’s best interest?”

“I do not blame you, Hermione. But now it is over, when they are returned to you, you must tell them. You must allow them to help you, for they would want nothing more than to do so.”

Hermione nodded and sat in the quiet for a bit longer. “So are you going to sit me down for fourteen months and make me rage over the pain of my past?”

“No,” he answered simply.

She smiled and sighed, happy to believe he meant she didn’t need it.

“Much longer than that, Myon.”

She let her head drop back onto his shoulder. _Should have seen that one coming._

* * *

_October 6, 199_  
_ _Hogwarts Castle_

_Dear Elizabeth,_

_Well. Sometimes it seems like life never slows down enough for me to get a sense of whether I’m coming or going, but let me see if I can at the very least write you a decent letter._

_Behold. A box with the Pendragon crest on it. Use is simple. Write me a letter, put it in the box, close the lid. The letter is transferred to my box. I shall do the same for you, and all you need to do is check the box to see if there is a letter from me. Clearly, not a box for storing other things in. Only those people who have a right to wear Henry V’s crown will be able to open your box. Mine, likewise, requires Pendragon blood, or a signet ring in order to open._

_Knighthood. We’re thinking Saturday, February 19th, which is the second day of the full moon, though whether or not we’ll do it actually at night I couldn’t possibly say. Please do tell me everything you can think of in terms of what I’m supposed to do, or at least what you would be doing in my place. And please add anything else you can think of in terms of my/our rights and responsibilities to the knights, and theirs to us._

_Is it terrible that I wish I could be knighted by you? I mean, it’s not like my Order of Merlin First Class is going away. I’d just also be a knight of that order. I mean, it’s for valor and deeds done in war. And it was all so bloody awful, I wish I had that recognition, too. Is this selfish? I’m probably being selfish. Okay, just tell me I’m being selfish and I’ll move on._

_Viktor is working with me now, every night, in a sort of therapy session to finally give me an outlet to talk about everything that has happened. So far I just scream and cry. He says it sometimes fills him with murderous inclinations on my behalf, but that he’s letting it go. I probably really need to talk about it with Harry and Ginny (you’ll see why below, with Ginny) but that’s easier said than done for all involved. We’ll see about tomorrow. It’s a new day._

_I now have Tuesday early mornings free, and I no longer have a ley lines expert. He made a rather violent pass. I accidentally broke his arm in several places and dislocated his elbow and his shoulder. I’m less upset than perhaps I ought to be. I haven’t decided whether or not to tell Viktor, though of course when the sniveling idiot threatened to have me expelled I accidentally laughed in his face. Then I sent a patronus to Minerva with the following words: “My ley lines tutor just sexually assaulted me, and I reacted instinctively and in self defence. He is now threatening expulsion. Please advise.” She did. Satisfactorily. (She refused him medical aid, dismissed him, and warned him that the Board of Governors would be suing for breach of contract.)_

_Augusta and Narcissa have not yet killed each other. Small mercies. (They may have begun to bond over mutual vomiting on the shore of the Black Lake, after the gillyweed wore off, post sushi with Gelwyn. Then again, that kind of mutual vulnerability could bond anyone, I think.)_

_Ginny has agreed to plan my wedding. Such a relief. She also plans all my date night outfits, such as they are._

_A quick rundown on how we all nearly died in second year: The year’s defence teacher was less talented than a grindylow on a broomstick. Lucius Malfoy (Narcissa’s husband) had smuggled an apparently blank journal into an innocent first year’s school books (Ginny’s, as a matter of fact) except it wasn’t a blank journal. It was a horcrux and had a piece of Tom’s unfortunate soul embedded in it. (Arguably, Lucius didn’t know what it was, exactly, only that it would wreak havoc and unleash a terror that would kill muggleborn students, but isn’t that bad enough?) As Ginny used it, pouring her heart out into it, it poured itself into her, possessing her and causing her to do the most horrific things. She would wake with little to no memory, except for talking with the charming young seventh year, Tom. But she’d wake, covered in blood. (Tom pre no-nose resurrection fifty years later was apparently an extremely charming young sociopath.) Nine months of this and she was almost dead, and Tom, through her, had almost a perfect possession of her, and he had meanwhile set Slytherin’s thousand year old slumbering monster on the school, which Harry could hear because Harry is a Parseltongue (long story, another time, but so is Tom). Slytherin’s monster was (Harry killed it) a Basilisk, or if you prefer, an hundred foot long person-eating snake with Medusa’s eyes. Happily everyone who met its eyes - including me - met them indirectly, and so we weren’t instantly killed, just petrified for months. Months. I missed several months that year, and I had bloody well figured it out before everyone else, too. As I mentioned previously, Salazar, may he rest in peace, left it behind apparently to eat muggleborn children. Thanks bunches, Slytherin._

_Anyway, Harry also killed the journal and the part of the soul that was in it. (Harry’s personal body count by the end of year two: 2.5) Meanwhile all of this was going on, Harry also had one of Lucius Malfoy’s house elves trying to keep him from attending school by the brute-force-into-the-hospital method because he knew generally what was going on and wanted to save Harry even though he was bound to silence and helpfulness. And Harry and Ron missed the train, flew a car, ran into a tree that wanted to kill them and nearly got eaten by a nest of sentient spiders the size of a cottage. (The spiders used to be Hagrid’s pets. You see a theme, perhaps?) Happily I missed all of this. Part of the time I was petrified, part of the time I was just being a decent student. Naturally other things happened, but those were the life threatening ones that made an impression._

_The Basilisk had actually gotten Harry and he would have gone the way of the journal and died between Ginny and the snake except that the headmaster’s phoenix showed up with Gryffindor’s sword and hat and then cried on his wounds and sang to him which was enough to counteract the venom, and revive both Harry and Ginny._

_He was twelve. She was eleven._

_And you know, no one believed him. He and Ron found the Chamber of Secrets from the clues I left. They were accompanied down with nothing but determination, an idiot adult, and only one viable wand between them, though apparently Ron’s broken wand was a god-send when the adult tried to attack them._

_Also, that year I accidentally turned into a cat girl, briefly. Not one of my finest moments. Glossing over that one, as it was neither permanent nor life-threatening._

_Sometimes I hate this school. Wouldn’t mind a phoenix, though._

_Oh, this is a terrible letter. I could try to rewrite it, but no. I’ll just get worse then, I think. I’m just going to end it and put it out of its misery and I’ll try again next week._

_Sorry,  
_ _Hermione_

* * *

Hermione and Harry ran together that morning, as they did occasionally, though it had often become a time for Hermione and Ginny to bond, and for Harry and Neville to do the same. It was quiet for a while and there were so many things that Hermione wanted to say she really had no idea where to start.

“Harry, I love you, and I would do anything for you,” she finally said, apropos of not a whole lot, except perhaps their history together.

“I know,” he said simply. After a moment, he added to the statement. “I feel the same way about you.”

“I know we’re both starting our own families, but you’ve always felt like the brother I never had.”

He nodded. “Yeah. I know what you mean. Growing up with Dudley didn’t make us brothers.”

“I want… I mean… I think… No, oh, dammit.”

“Just say it, ‘Mione.”

“I think we should talk about the dreadful things we’ve gone through. You know. Talk. Scream. Cry. Whatever.”

Harry sighed. “Probably. Not looking forward to that.”

“Yeah. It’s not a super fun way to spend an afternoon. But there was something else I was thinking, too. It’s the next thing I’m studying with Master Harris. Or, the theory, at least. It’s the magic behind the Blood Brothers Bonding Ritual,” Hermione said, eventually gasping out her words, as they had come to that portion of the run.

“Mmm,” Harry responded, clearly interested, at least a bit. “Would it mess up whatever you’ve got going with Black and Pendragon?”

“Uh, not mess up as such. More like it would add me to the Peveril-Potter line, and it would add you to the Black-Pendragon line. Distinctly cadet branches, but still.”

“What’s the advantage to you?” he asked.

“Other than calling you my brother? Knowing that you know I really will be with you until you die, Harry Potter. Until one or the other of us dies. I won’t ever leave you. It’s true love. It’s just not romantic at all.”

Harry tackled her into a hug. A hug while running. Not being the most coordinated woman around, Hermione nearly fell over.

“Oi! Potter! Don’t break the Queen!” Neville bellowed from behind.

Hermione gasped out laughter and sorted herself out, still weaving slightly every time Harry bumped his shoulder into her on purpose.

“So, you wanna do it?” Hermione gasped out, still smiling.

“Hell, yeah,” Harry said, looking at her with a grin.

* * *

Hermione was not exactly used to seeking out the opinions of others before engaging in dubious, questionable, illegal, immoral, or borderline insane ideas while residing in Hogwarts. As a policy, she embraced the idea of seeking forgiveness rather than permission when scheming her schemes.

She was, however, trying to turn over a new and somewhat more responsible leaf. And she had actual advisors. And she realized, only the bad kings let their advisors dictate their actions. The good ones weighed what they said and came to their own conclusions which may or may not bear any resemblance to advice given.

So she asked. Separately. _So, I’m considering making Harry my blood brother. Any qualms?_

“Hmm. No,” Minerva said.

“Sounds like a delightful prospect,” Narcissa said.

“That’s a personal matter, Your Majesty, and I’m in no position to render an opinion,” Augusta said.

At that point, Hermione took a moment to reconsider her somewhat defensive mental position. It was a scheme of hers, to which Harry agreed, and so she expected all of the responsible adults around her to throw eight fits, and that hadn’t happened. She took a day to think about it, before penning a note to Viktor.

* * *

_October 7, 199_  
_ _Buckingham Palace_

_Dear Hermione,_

_First, thank you for the box. I shall use it well._

_Second, it sounds as if you need to take a bit of time to take care of yourself, or perhaps a bit more time. You are not at all yourself, and there is nothing going on so important that you cannot take several hours to be kind to yourself and regain your equilibrium._

_Third, you are well rid of your ley lines tutor and I am pleased with the steps Minvera has taken, except possibly denying the man the basic medical attention. I take it wizards with broken arms can be trusted to hie themselves to hospitals of some sort?_

_Fourth, I do not think it is selfish in the least to crave the same recognition for the same service and pains rendered, and you would not be the first royal to be decorated for valor in battle. I think what we shall do is this. At the time of the coronation, first, I will bestow upon you the Knighthood of the Order of Merlin. It is right that you should be the first among your peers to enter. Then I will crown you. But please, allow me to use Excalibur to knight you, and you will make an old woman very happy._

_Fifth, the date is very reasonable and I will lay out the basics, here, and then you will be able to see it from both sides._

_First, one approaches and kneels before you. Then you acknowledge the service they have rendered to all of Avalon - and we shall have to discuss for you how I will phrase this, exactly, as you still have not told me exactly what you did - and this can be in broad terms or quite specific, and then in gratitude you name them a Knight in the Order of Merlin, possibly placing Excalibur gently on one and then the other shoulder. The knight before you then offers you an oath of continuing fealty which may in fact be slightly different one from another, and you then invite them to rise, using the new styling of the name, Sir or Dame. The knight rises, bows, and then gets out of the way for the next in line._

_Now, their children would all be styled ‘The Honorable’, and of course their spouses would be for example ‘Lady Potter’ though not ‘Lady Ginny’ as that would be reserved for the instance of Ginny herself being elevated._

_Such knighthoods are not hereditary, though clearly there are hereditary titles in Avalon and I am somewhat curious about that. When, I wonder, did the house of Black become elevated to an Earldom? I do not question the validity, you understand, but certainly noble titles should be something within your gift. If you had siblings in Avalon, for instance, you might reasonably give them non-hereditary duchys, though historically and perhaps cynically the practice could be argued to have begun and continued in order to keep regicide to a minimum. Still. It is a practice that can be useful even when all are trusted around you. Certainly it has the impact of honoring those in whom we place both trust and responsibility. In the case of Avalon, I do not think such titles ought to be connected to a place, necessarily. The title is enough._

_Except in the case of knights. As knights are often, or at least historically, those who work hard for the crown and have expensive equipment that requires maintenance, a stipend is an optional and reasonable offering. I believe I will set the stipend for the Knights of the Order of Merlin to be ten thousand pounds per annum for the life of the recipient. It’s not enough to live on, but it may be enough to help out for projects and their associated expense. Do check with Gringotts to see how this might be most easily expedited._

_I ask that you would discuss with me whom you wish to elevate when you wish it, though I shall respect your decisions._

_Now, I do think you should discuss what happened with your tutor with Viktor. He seems like an extremely grounded young man, all evidence to the contrary with his sport. Lean on Viktor, my dear. Begin as you mean to go on. And speak to Harry, by all means, and Ginny, too. Too much pain and sorrow has filled your life, and I say this only knowing three years of the seven horrors in question._

_Do be careful in your own castle. Quiz the elves quite specifically about ancient monsters, and secret chambers, please._

_In friendship,  
_ _Elizabeth_

* * *

_October 8, 199_  
_ _Hogwarts Castle_

_My dearest Viktor,_

_I’m writing to you for two reasons, really. One because I need your advice, and another because Elizabeth told me to. Sort of. Well, anyway._

_First, I want your opinion, as a practitioner of blood magic, and as my beloved, of Harry and I entering into a Blood Brother/Sister relationship._

_Second, and this might be somewhat disturbing, and in fact I can’t quite bring myself to mention it in person, this past Tuesday during my tutoring session when I had gotten out of my chair to fetch something and was leaning over slightly, my former ley lines tutor came up quietly from behind, cleaved himself to my arse, reached around and grabbed one of my breasts and hissed something in my ear I cannot fully remember, but I believe he accused me of being a teasing tart or some such. Quite without thinking I broke his arm in several places and dislocated a few joints. I don’t even have a clear memory of how it happened. Then he raged about having me expelled and, as I said to Elizabeth, I accidentally laughed in his face. It’s all sorted now. He’s fired. I’m not expelled, obviously. I think he’s being sued for being a git. (Or something. Maybe the contract enforces itself? I’m not sure. But Measure Have Been Taken.) I’m doing without a ley lines tutor for now and I’m fine with that. It just leaves such a bad taste in my mouth, you know? I mean, why would he think that of me? I wasn’t trying to be sexy. I was entirely in uniform, for heaven’s sake, complete with shapeless over robe. (Well, alright, also Concordia, but she’s kept me sane, so I’m counting her as part of my uniform, now.) It put me totally off that whole day, and I finally vomited before lunch, which I skipped entirely. (I did eat dinner that day, however.) And I didn’t want to tell you at the time for a lot of reasons, none of which seem reasonable anymore. But now that it’s Thursday it seems awkward. I should have told you two days ago, and now I’m worried you’ll be mad at me._

_Please don’t be mad at me._

_Love,  
_ _Hermione_

* * *

_October 8, 199_  
_ _The Cross Hotel, Ely_

_My most cherished Hermione,_

_Harry we will discuss another time._

_I am not mad at you. I am mad at that idiot who betrayed the trust put in him, who treated you with such profound disrespect, who threatened your sense of safety, and who made you doubt your own vision of reality._

_Please know that I respect your need to think on things in your own head before you say them to me or anyone else. I see that as a mark of your wisdom, not as a flaw to be overcome._

_You have nothing to feel ashamed of. Not breaking his arm. Not considering carefully who you wish to say things to and what you wish to say. And certainly not for simply getting up to fetch something during a lesson, and being assaulted by someone who’s tenuous grip on reality is obviously breaking._

_I love you, and I look forward to seeing you tonight. I have no wish to run stamina drills with you, nor even really the geographic surveys of late. I only wish to hold you in my arms and know that you are safe and have you know the same. Allow me this tonight, my love. If I cannot hold you through the night and to the dawn of the new day, let me hold you these six hours together. Have Tampy come to wake us just before eleven so that we may each return within our chosen curfew._

_Until then you are in my thoughts and my prayers, my sweetest love._

_All my love, forever,  
_ _Viktor_

* * *

“Hermione, you can’t wear a Vratsa jersey to an Inferi game.”

Hermione blinked at Ginny. “But I’m wearing Viktor’s jersey to Viktor’s game,” she pointed out.

“This wouldn’t be a problem if he’d given you a _new_ jersey. I can’t believe Draco got one before we did.”

“But he _just gave me this one, Ginny!”_ Hermione said, still stubbornly clinging to the wrong shirt.

“And he just changed teams!” Why was she being so _unreasonable?_

“And he’ll change names in two more months. I’ll get a new one after that.”

Ginny threw her hands up in the air. “Wear whatever the hell you want, Hermione. We’ll be ready in an hour,” she said, leaving the bedroom as calmly as she could and very deliberately not slamming the door behind her.

Ginny Potter walked into her bedroom to find her husband reading a library book on their bed. She knew he had finished most of his homework for the weekend, everything except for the last transfiguration essay. Saucepot was lying in loopy ropes on his chest.

Ginny huffed and leaned back on the door, crossing her arms over her chest. After a moment, she interrupted him.

“Can I bother you?” she asked.

She watched her husband’s eyes dart to the page number at the bottom of the book. He never dogeared the pages and he never used bookmarks. He just made a mental note of where he was, and remembered. It was part of his life long effort to live unobtrusively, she’d realized over the summer.

He closed the book and set it on his bedside table. “You never bother me, Gin. What’s up?”

“Hermione’s annoying me.”

“She does that well. It’s part of her charm. What happened?”

Ginny explained. With much gesturing. And when it all came out she realized in a sort of distracted way that perhaps clothes didn’t matter this much, but she was still so annoyed, was the thing.

Once it was all out of her system, Ginny took a deep breath. “You know, the irony is that it’s one of the reasons I like her so much. She cares about her appearance, and yet she doesn’t at the same time. She’s totally humble about her inability to intuitively _get_ fashion, and she’s totally humble about accepting my advice _most of the time._

“I mean, I get that in the end she’s the one wearing the clothes…” She sighed. “I think I got territorial over her wardrobe. God, that sounds awful.” She covered her face with her hands. “You married an awful, shallow woman, Mr. Potter.”

She could hear him shifting on the bed, getting up, putting Saucepot in his basket with the lid off. 

“I’m pretty sure I didn’t,” he countered, now close to her, pulling her hands away and kissing each one before placing them on his own hips. “I’m pretty sure I married a phoenix in human form. Brave, strong, passionate, intelligent, loyal, valorous, courageous, healing, and really very fiery. Never shallow, but sometimes you do leave me awestruck.”

She huffed and smiled despite herself, looking up at him as he loomed over her.

“If I’m a phoenix, what does that make you?”

“I’m just a little stained-glass butterfly resting on the breeze,” he said, and for the first time referring to himself as some sort of fragile butterfly, Ginny could see the fragility in his eyes. 

“The breaks are what make the stained glass so beautiful, Harry. And we won’t let you crack any further. You can heal, now. You can take the rest of your calm and peaceful life to heal, now.”

He sighed quietly and rested his forehead against hers. “Is it even possible?” he whispered, almost too softly to hear. “I’m so broken, Ginny. I feel like I’m being held together by you and Hermione, and Neville, and Saucepot, and spell-o-tape. What’ll I do when we leave Hogwarts? When all that’s left is a house elf who hates me and a bleak and empty home?”

She held him, then. “We’ll figure it out. Together we’ll figure it out. And we don’t have to have all the answers now. Bit by bit it will all come together, and one day soon we’ll just be happy. We’ll just be happy, Harry, all the time.”

He sobbed then, just the once before pulling himself back from the edge and pulling it all back inside and locking it down hard.

In a way, Ginny wished he could just... Just cry and scream like she did sometimes, and just get it out. Not that she was a perfect example of someone coping well, but Harry just kept locking it all away, just like her mother did. Until there was the volcanic eruption.

Ginny wondered if Harry would be just like her mother, and if so, when she could expect the volcano to enter complete meltdown.

* * *

Harry went off to find food and left his two favorite women to either make it up to each other in the family box, or possibly to sit in awkward silence, but probably not. They were both too sensible for that.

The Inferi were playing the Chudley Canons and Harry felt a twist in his gut about not being best friends with Ron anymore. And now, now that they were brother-in-laws, it was just so awkward to realize that he liked George a great deal more than he liked Ron. Bill too, if it came to that. Bill and George had sent wedding presents when they’d found out, each saying in their way that their mother would come around and their father was already secretly overjoyed for them both, and sends his love.

Before he found the nearest concession stand, Harry found a kiosk selling other things, and he bought his wife one of the new Krum Inferi jerseys. He would get Viktor to sign it when he could, and give it to her for her birthday, which was coming up. He should probably also get her some jewelry, except he had no idea what she would like. He’d have to think about that some more. Maybe talk to Neville. There were two more shopping Saturdays left, so he still had a bit of time.

Finally at the concession stand, Harry got an enormous tray of hot dogs, chips, nachos, and drinks and brought it back to the family box in _Inferi Hell_ only to find both of the women he loved laughing together. He breathed a sigh of relief before telling them both to budge up for the man with the food. He sat right between them and was content to both have them leaning in, eating and chatting before the game began. Just because he wasn’t saying much, didn’t mean he wanted to be on the outside.

It was part of his nightmares. To be on the outside, again, away from all the love, all the feeling. _Oh, God!_ How was he going to deal with graduation?

He swallowed it down with a chip and it was forgotten again, for a little while. Harry proceeded to enjoy himself, more or less, which was as good as it got these days.


	21. Chapter 18: Wherein Hermione goes to church.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Other things also occur.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes it's an epic love story. Sometimes we just need to advance the plot a bit and watch some Monty Python.

_October 9, 199_  
_ _Hogwarts Castle_

_My beautiful man,_

_I will have watched you today during your game. Given that I came with Harry and Ginny, I probably won’t have pulled out my book, though of course I’m planning on bringing a selection just in case. They’re far too enthusiastic about the game and happy to share the details of just why a maneuver is so impressive._

_I am certain that at least once I have gasped in dismay at some dangerous thing you have done._

_If you’ve been injured, know that I wanted to pull my wand on whomever hurt you._

_If you’ve won, know that I jumped to my feet and cheered like a mad woman._

_If you’ve lost, know that I’ve commiserated and pointed out all the ways in which you did your best, because you always do._

_You’re always so utterly graceful on your broom. I don’t know if I’ve ever told you, but I often think of it. Many people are, and then they get off their brooms and they’re loud and boorish and cruel and annoying. And you get off your broomstick and you’re still graceful and elegant, and beautiful, and so, so kind._

_I love you._

_Thank you for just holding me and speaking with me these past few days. I hadn’t realized how much I needed it. And I did. And I may still do. Still, can we mix a few orgasms in, tonight? Soft and sweet, or hard and lovely, I don’t care which._

_And if you come to the cottage_ _right_ _now_ _I promise to feed you, too._

 _Waiting,  
_ _Hermione_

* * *

Hermione lay quietly in his arms, and he thought she might have been asleep, but she wasn’t, not exactly.

“Will you need a study? In our suite in Hogwarts? Should I arrange for that?”

“An empty room with a comfortable chair in it, yes. Perhaps a bookcase. But I prefer a largely empty room.”

“Interesting,” she commented. “Spell casting?”

“Weight training,” he clarified. “For days off.”

She made an understanding sound and adjusted her position slightly, snuggling into him in a different but entirely beautiful manner. “Let’s see if we can change one of the snoozy rooms in the New Palace into a non-snoozy weight training studio for you. With a comfortable chair. For me.”

“For you?” he asked, grinning. Perhaps he knew why his largely uncoordinated bride would want a comfortable chair for herself in such a room, but he wanted confirmation.

She moaned a little moan. “Would you mind if I watched?”

“No,” he replied, considering what her watching might lead to. In one direction, a bed and an atmosphere of unbridled desire. In the other direction, a Roman Bath in which, to be entirely honest, Viktor had wanted to take her on every flat surface within from the very first moment he laid eyes on it all.

“When is your birthday?” she asked, changing the subject only slightly because now Viktor was thinking about the possibility of birthday sex.

“The feast day of saints Cyril and Methodius,” he replied, and then realized she probably wouldn’t know when that was. “The fourteenth of February.”

“And what would you like for your birthday?”

He grinned and pulled her hips deeper into his, her roundness pressing beautifully against his hardened length. “You,” he said at last. “All day. All night.”

She gasped, and he loved hearing it. “You don’t want a cake, or a special meal, or, I don’t know, skin-tight black dragon leather trousers you proceed to wear everywhere?”

His laughter was brief. “No, but it sounds like you want these things for me. And I am not opposed. But the only thing _I_ want is _you.”_

“Right. Duly noted.”

Viktor breathed in her scent and the yearning he felt for her raced through his body and lay pounding at the base of his spine. He had decided an hour ago to just revel in it, to not rush headlong into another orgasm as was his habit, but to make this, too a source of stamina. Eventually she spoke again, and he let her words distract him from his desperate need.

“I do think I want to go through with the ritual to make Harry and I blood siblings.”

“Do it,” he encouraged her. “Would you like my help?”

“I’d love it. I’m studying it with Master Harris, right now.” She proceeded to regale him with all the things that fascinated her about the ritual in particular, and with his favorite subject in general. Viktor quietly soaked in all of her enthusiasm as they lay in bed in what had become his favorite cottage by the sea.

* * *

Hermione would be content if she never apparated ever again. Really, most forms of magical transportation left her feeling dreadful, and there was a tiny part of her that wondered if she relied too heavily on the Twins for transportation, but the rest of her saw it as a godsend and just moved on.

The travel they took in stages. First, she went to his hotel lobby and called the Twins to her while she waited for him to come down. Then they went to her parents home, where she dismissed the Twins with gratitude and called a taxi. Hermione had left plenty of wiggle room, but the taxi took much longer than usual to arrive. They would have to slip in the back a few minutes into the start of the service, but that didn’t phase her. They probably wouldn’t be the only ones to arrive late.

As Hermione was getting ready earlier, she realized that she really did envy her mother’s collection of clothes, because yet again, nothing she had was something she wanted to wear in this particular moment for this particular occasion. Clearly she needed a ball gown, a date night dress, and a dress in between. Instead she just wore her black suit again, except she traded out the suit coat for a light blue sweater to go with the black skirt.

Viktor was looking perfect, of course, and quite edible. His black suit set off his pale skin and black hair making him, in fact, tall, dark, and handsome.

As they waited on the front porch for their taxi, Hermione discussed cars and discovered the fact that Viktor had never been _in_ one. Which sort of made sense. But it also made Hermione a little sad. Magic was beautiful and wonderful, and all things good, but it was such a _small_ part of the much larger world. And it could do things that technology could not yet do, but it couldn’t get you comfortably across the country, even if it did do it quickly. It couldn’t take you to the moon, or photograph the world from orbit. It didn’t bother to be particularly curious about its own origins or the all important question _how._ And of course there were many things that were perhaps not a very good idea, but that science and technology led to anyway, like nuclear proliferation, weapons of mass destruction, and chemical warfare, to name only three. 

And thank God Tom hadn’t know about any of those three, and his followers were the sort who would have shunned even the Kalashnikov Rifle, which a recent article in The Times had pointed out was still the sturdiest on the market, and able to be disassembled, cleaned, reassembled and fully operated by a ten year old under water, or in desert conditions. Though, just because a child soldier could figure it out doesn’t mean a LeStrange could. Not that the article was _about_ the AK-47, but you could learn a lot just by reading a decent non-magical newspaper.

Viktor was quiet in the taxi, which was just a normal, slightly shabby four-door sedan, and not one of the classic black four-in-the-back taxis one got in Central London. The four and a half mile trip across town didn’t take long at all, and when they pulled up to the front of St. Swithins-in-the-City Hermione paid the driver and quietly showed Viktor how to open his door by virtue of slowly pulling the handle on her own while not blocking his view.

The service was rather like she’d remembered, though she hadn’t been in a church in more than a year. Not since her parents left. She guided Viktor through and discovered he had an absolutely lovely singing voice and even though he was unfamiliar with the hymns, by the second verse of each one of them his rich baritone wrapped around her and made her feel so comfortable and in an altogether new way. The sermon urged her to love her neighbor as herself, and she privately considered that it was the best message the church had, and wondered why it wasn’t more popular. Of course, it was difficult sometimes, but the more difficult a thing was, Hermione had found, the more worthwhile it was to do.

After the service was over Hermione and Viktor were one of the first ones in line and out the door by virtue of their spot in the second to last pew.

“Hermione!” Father Michael was standing at the back, greeting people and for her he had his arms wide open. “How are your parents?” he asked, after their hug ended.

“Fine,” Hermione said, not technically lying. “May I introduce my fiance, Viktor?”

“Mr. Krum, very nice to meet you. Father Michael Fielding.”

They shook hands and there was a very brief pleasantry, but there was also a line behind them. 

“I wondered if we could talk soon, Father Michael,” Hermione said, thinking of how to go about getting a blessing on their union when there would be no non-magical wedding license.

He nodded toward the office portion of the building. “If you’ve got a moment, why don’t you wait in my study? Give me ten minutes and then we can talk.”

They did so, following signs and when the door closed and they had settled into some chairs to wait, Viktor had a strange look on his face.

“That man knew who I was,”

Hermione blinked. “Father Michael?” she asked, her tone more than slightly dubious.

Viktor nodded, once. He had, she noted, entirely broken himself of the Bulgarian habit of nodding to indicate no and shaking his head to indicate yes. 

Hermione considered their extremely brief interaction and then realized what it was. “I didn’t tell him what your last name was,” she breathed.

She got up, then, and decided to use the ten minutes to good advantage. First she looked at all the books on his shelves in his quite expansive library here in his study. She trailed her fingers along the spines for good measure and sure enough there was a shelf of books with glamours on them. She didn’t bother to take them off, but that was an excellent indicator that Father Michael was at least not the father of a fully magical child, though he might still be a squib. Then she scrutinized all of the various bits and bobs that were hanging on his walls. Art, a picture of a rather militaristic Archangel Michael vanquishing what looked like a Norwegian Ridgeback, but possibly might be Satan, certificates, pictures. And in one of the watercolors on the wall stood a tiny silhouette of a castle off in the distance. It was clearly Hogwarts. And Hogwarts meant nothing to those who hadn’t lived in it, and everything to those who had.

“Yup. He’s a wizard,” she said, sitting back down and looking around a third time, but from her seat. This time she noticed the electric water kettle behind his desk. The computer on his desk. The electric fan in the corner. The air conditioning unit in the window, which she pointed out to Viktor. The radio in the other window, next to a standard sun-loving houseplant that was entirely non-magical in nature. “And he’s clearly quite comfortable in the non-magical world,” Hermione mused. She got up again to look at his diplomas. Seminary at Cambridge. Bachelor's degree from St. Andrew’s. And Hermione wondered how much catch-up he had to do in order to be prepared to sit his college lectures.

She had enough time to return to her seat, cross her ankles and grin at Viktor who had been in his own contemplative world all this time before the door opened and admitted the priest, still fully vested in his liturgical clothing. He sat down in a chair near them and opened with, “Are your parents really okay, Hermione? I haven’t seen them for more than a year, and that’s not like them.”

Nothing like a sucker punch to begin a conversation. 

“They’re really okay. They’re in hiding,” Hermione said, holding his gaze.

Her priest didn’t flinch. “Are _you_ okay? I trust the Prophet less than I trust World Weekly News. The BBC it isn’t.”

“I’m all in one piece. And I’m slowly getting better. Did my parents know you were a wizard?”

He nodded. “We had dinner several times when you first left for Hogwarts. They had a lot of questions. Now, as grateful as I am to see you, I thought you were back at school. So why have you made a special trip out here today?”

“Viktor and I are going to have a traditional handfasting on December 31st, just before the coronation. Would you join us, be our guest, and bless our marriage?”

Father Michael grinned. “I’d be honored, Your Majesty.”

* * *

 _October 13, 199_  
_ _Hogwarts Castle_

_Dear Elizabeth,_

_Thank you for your advice. I have taken it all._

_As of yesterday at nine in the evening, I have a brother. There’s a blood magic ritual (of course there is) to bind two people and their families together forever, in a non-romantic way. I am now the cadet branch of the Peveril-Potter line, and he is now the cadet branch of the Black-Pendragon line. We went this afternoon to have it notarized by the goblins and all our names changed, Harry, me, and Ginny. I’ve added Peveril-Potter between Granger and Black, and eventually Krum will be right after Granger as well. They’ve added Black-Pendragon and Peveril between their middle names and Potter._

_Luna had brought champagne from the Malfoi vineyards (I think she and Draco might be dating after all), and so there we all were, laughing, crying, toasting to the Potters, the Pendragons, the Blacks, and everyone we could think of._

_And then Narcissa announced that she was going to be reinstating her sister (the live, sane one Andromeda who went off and married a muggle lawyer she fell in love with, and was thus disowned by her pureblood family), and her dead cousin, Sirius, and then there were a lot more tears and Narcissa just had to deal with a hug from Harry and Ginny, and then everyone else, because for a very brief three years, Sirius was Harry’s only real family._

_And so I begin the story of how we all nearly died in our third year, or as I like to think of it, the year of Where Did All Of These Animals Come From? In terms of actual death, it was quite light and this year no one was added to Harry’s death toll. We saved people instead. It was a remarkably delightful change._

_So while I was enjoying the last days of a vacation visiting my grandmother in France with my parents, Harry was busy doing accidental magic against his dreadful and abusive family and then running away from home and being chased by what would later turn out to be an escaped convict._

_Sirius Black had been in Azkaban, wizarding prison that literally sucks out your soul in degrees, for the last twelve years, sentenced without a trial I would like to add, because it was thought he betrayed the location of Harry’s parents to Tom. No one knew, and Sirius, wracked with guilt, never mentioned that he hadn’t been the Potter’s secret keeper. Next to no one also knew that Sirius was an unregistered animagi. (He turns into a dog. Bit of a black wolfhound type thing.) Sirius had broken out because he’d figured out that the actual traitor was getting closer to Harry, and he had to protect him at all costs. Meanwhile everyone tried to protect Harry from Sirius at all costs. It was an ugly triangle. It involved him not speaking to me for two months at the beginning of term due to my rather over cautious nature, at least, over cautious as compared to Harry, Ron’s pet rat faking its death and setting up my sweet Crookshanks as his would-be murderer, and eventually I used the time machine I’d been given to take an obscene amount of classes to save Sirius and a hippogriff from execution. Meanwhile, because it all always comes to a head all at once, our Defence Professor (best one we ever had, and the kindest and best of men, may he rest in peace) forgot his wolfsbane potion one night and nearly ate us. Our potions professor, whom we always suspected of being evil in every terrible plot every year, and who in fact was an extremely successful spy for the light, actually stood between us and a fully transformed werewolf that night. And then Harry and I relived that entire night over again and had to flee from the werewolf a second time, except this time we were baiting it into chasing us, instead of our younger selves. That time it was just Harry and I because Ron was already in hospital. It turns out his rat wasn’t a rat and had faked his death in rather the same manner he’d done before. The traitor was a rat, and the rat was a traitor. (Is it any wonder Harry now has a rat-eating therapy snake?)_

_Once upon a time, you see, there were four friends. And one of the little boys was a werewolf, and this long before the wolfsbane potion was developed. And so the other three friends learned to transform themselves into animals so their kind and gentle friend wouldn’t have to be alone on the three nights of the full moon. One turned into a wolfhound. One turned into a stag. One turned into a rat. Harry’s father was the stag. Now, this is all lovely and bright, though of course it all went pear-shaped in the last war, and well before that because they were all Gryffindor bullies, sad to say, and their own cruelty came back to haunt them many times. Karma._

_So. To further elucidate the tangled web we weave, Remus Lupin married the daughter of Sirius’s cousin, and died with her in the final battle, leaving their infant son Teddy to be raised by Andromeda and Ted Tonks, the grandparents. Severus Snape, may he rest in peace, the then potions master of Hogwarts was bullied by the four in their shared childhood, had been in love with his childhood friend for his entire life despite the fact that she married his arch enemy, and was rather a cruel bastard to her son, Harry, in class. Severus outted Remus after he had to protect the lot of us from him, and the Board fired him (Remus, not Severus). And Sirius, long since disowned for being a Gryffindor through and through rather than a Slytherin, had been Harry’s godfather, and still loved him. Which is why Harry has been living in one of Narcissa’s houses for rather a long time, and why she’s fixing it up and giving it to him. Well, that’s not why, per se, but that’s part of How We All Nearly Died Over And Over And Over Again, Take Seven, and that one time Narcissa saved him and he saved her right back._

_Oh, and there were dementors everywhere that year. Bloody insane, and not at all under control. They’re dark creatures that suck your soul out of your body, and before that, all of the joy out of your mind, and they were set loose in your country to look for Sirius. (The Ministry has so much to answer for, and yet they are still used to guard Azkaban. Prison reform is on my list.) Yes, they did attack others in a random but untraceable fashion. They nearly killed Harry a few different times, but I was able to avoid them. (After they attacked Harry for no discernable reason during the middle of a quidditch match, causing him to fall off his broom from more than half a mile up, the headmaster had enough leverage to ban them from the grounds.)_

_For my part in year three, I largely just studied like a mad woman and lied a lot about being very nearly seen in two places at once. That year was full of the standard amount of plots, paranoia, red herrings, and attempts of Draco and his Slytherin thugs to bully us, but whatever. No one died, despite Hagrid teaching Care of Magical Creatures and assigning a text that is literally capable of eating its readers. That was the year I hauled off and punched Draco in the face, though. Bit of a highlight, that. I like to think he deserved it._

_Good times, good times. Now we’re not-exactly siblings, Draco and I, and I think we’re in a much better place._

_I realize I didn’t answer a question you posed two letters ago. Forgive me and let me do so now. So, what you saw and what it means are two distinct things. You saw me intervening from having a house elf erase your memory and any knowledge of magic, and you saw me realizing why the statute of secrecy really exists, and then you saw me entering into a binding agreement with a house elf to uphold the statute of secrecy and never act to endanger that particular house elf._

_What is really going on is what I’m in the midst of figuring out. So, everyone in the magical world just takes house elves and their servitude for granted. To me it looked an awful lot like slavery, especially seeing the way Lucius Malfoy treated his elf, and seeing how grateful that elf was to be freed from his service. And so I went on a campaign my fourth year, trying to ensure that house elves had rights, and it didn’t go well. Turns out house elves don’t want to be freed. But is that just internalized slavery? Stockholm syndrome on a massive, magical scale? No one bothered to sit me down and explain it, and I think I know why; no one understands the elves and no one has bothered to ask them._

_I have._

_I’m still piecing the puzzle together, and I don’t have a full picture yet. What I do think I understand is that on and off throughout history all over the world, all magical communities have had moments of being underground and moments of being quite public, but at this point once again, we’re all underground and there is an internationally agreed upon statute of secrecy. Family members and heads of state may know, but that’s it. And if you’ve ever wondered why past prime ministers can’t remember Magical Britain, it’s because they no longer need to know, and they’ve been obliviated of all knowledge._

_Obliviation doesn’t hurt. I’m told it’s like waking from a dream that you can remember for just a moment, and then it’s out of reach, and then gone entirely, just a bit of a taste at the back of your mouth that you can’t quite identify. It doesn’t change your personality, or your emotions, it just removes the context, or the connection. It takes talent, focus, and skill to accomplish. The ministry has a team of emergency obliviators that are called out whenever there is an incident. It is, of course, illegal to do outside of maintaining the statute of secrecy. And it is permanent. Quite permanent. No known cure._

_Well, that’s me for today. More suppositions later. Hope you and Charles and everyone are well._

_Love,  
_ _Hermione_

* * *

 _October 14, 199_  
_ _Buckingham Palace_

_Dear Hermione,_

_And now you have a brother. It is both a blessing and a great pain to have siblings. I wish you well. Of course you will still induct him into the knighthood, but his styling could then be His Grace, Sir Harry Potter, Duke Pendragon, or possibly if you prefer to so honor your patroness and his godfather, Duke Black Pendragon. And so it would be Her Grace, Ginny Potter, Duchess Black Pendragon, and so forth._

_Obliviation sounds a necessary evil, and as if you have had some difficult dealings there. I’m sorry if you’ve had to lose memories. And here I had believed it was an affliction only of the old. Still, life must go on and you know that as well as I._

_I am glad to hear that you got to spend one year of seven chasing academics and saving people rather than the alternative._

_I recall the manhunt for Sirius Black. It was a curious name that I noted at the time, and it has stuck with me ever since. I recall that it was called off. I’m glad to know that as he was innocent, he managed to escape._

_I look forward to the ongoing story of the true state of the house elves in domestic service._

_I am not at all surprised to hear that everyone is in everyone else’s business in Avalon. Wars are, in the end, entirely a family affair. When we cannot resolve our own issues we inevitably rope in all the resources we can to prove our points, even when they are well past the place of being moot. Remember this for both your chosen blood brother and your involuntary not-exactly brother. Do not let the next war be your own._

_I am glad your erstwhile headmaster was at least able to get the nightmarish monsters off the school grounds, though it does not speak well to the power imbalance in the Ministry’s favor that he should have to wait until a student was attacked. I hope things are quite different under Minerva’s direction, and Minister Shacklebolt’s leadership, though clearly some checks on the Ministry’s power would be useful, and that might be well within your wheelhouse in the coming years._

_I am further glad that you are taking care of yourself. While there are many things we end up giving up, or letting pass us by entirely, we cannot be of use if we do not take care of ourselves. I have done so, and it has, I believe, allowed me the length and breadth of the life that I have. Naturally there were other factors at play, as there will be for you, but you must maintain your own sanity, and your own health, if not for yourself, then for others._

_Affectionately,  
_ _Elizabeth_

* * *

Hermione ran in time with Ginny per usual and there was silence for the moment.

“Your birthday’s coming up, isn’t it?” Hermione asked.

“Mmm-hmm. Eighteen. Funny to be considered a year younger than Harry when really I’m only two and a half months younger. I mean, I’m a full year and a month younger than you. Still.”

“So, what do you want for your birthday? Other than to be a duchess?” Hermione asked.

Ginny shrieked.

Hermione laughed.

_“Merlin’s-stary-garters-Hermione-Jean-Granger-Peveril-Potter-Black-Pendragon!”_

_Oof._ She was up to seven now, and when she married Viktor it would be eight. This was getting ridiculous. She was definitely just going to go by Pendragon. Or Black Pendragon.

What was in a name, anyway? Roses still smell as sweet no matter what you call them. Not that she’d ever really liked that play. Bunch of melodramatic teenagers with access to weaponry. 

Hermione, regardless of being a teenager with ample access to weaponry and dangerous spells of all sorts, did not consider herself melodramatic, and thus was in a class apart from both Romeo and Juliet who were clearly not the most romantic couple in history, but rather the punchline of a cautionary tale regarding family feuds. Obviously. Not that history had taken note, of course.

Hmm. That might be a good way to sell it for the Shakespeare curriculum proposal she was putting together.

“Take me shopping and to lunch, and buy me a dress.”

“Alright. Just us, or should we invite Luna?” Hermione asked, as they were obviously not inviting the boys.

“I’d love Luna to come. Do.”

“The Saturday after your birthday, then?”

“Yes, perfect.” 

“Alright. I’ll see about getting permission to whisk you two away. I do sometimes wonder what kind of favors I’m going to owe in perpetuity to Minerva for this special treatment I’m receiving.”

Ginny gave her a look, but the penny wasn’t quite dropping. Finally the red head just said it. “Hermione. She’s one of your advisors. She _gets_ to be an advisor to the Queen. Don’t you get what a big deal that is? I mean, we’re your friends, and you’re either stuck with us or you need to ditch us, but we’ll be there for you. And you’re now stuck with Harry and me for life. But Headmistress McGonagall might have just been a footnote in your life. Good professor. Good headmistress. Nice person. Turns into a cat. And instead you’ve given her this honor, and this power. Not hugely surprised she’s willing to be flexible with you when flexibility doesn’t cost her anything.

“Hermione, really, woman. You need to own your power. Not to abuse it, but to know that you have it.”

“Is this actually going to end up being a conversation about my wardrobe, Ginny?” Hermione asked, able to speak normally still, but possibly only for another five minutes.

“Maybe! I’m telling you. The average girl at Hogwarts has a crap sense of self-esteem and that is just nuts. Men have power in this world because they grab it and work hard to keep it. Women have power because they haven’t given it away, or because they finally woke up and reclaimed it. Come on. Tell me it’s not true. Tell me you haven’t thought about that with Narcissa and Lucius and whatever the hell they had. Man clearly stole her power, and she was obviously the one with half a brain in that couple. Tell me that if you look Viktor in the eye, smile just so and ask him to do something he won’t do it. No, he wouldn’t do something stupid, but you wouldn’t ask something stupid. You’d ask something reasonable, but maybe not something he’s inclined to do. But if you asked and subtly reminded him that you are the prime provider of orgasms, sexy fun times, the comfort of his home, and his future children, he’d do it. He’s hardwired to do it.”

“Yes, but I would never rub that in his face,” Hermione said. 

“Subtle, Hermione. Actually subtle, not what passes for it in Gryffindor Tower. It’s all there in a look and a hint of a smile. It’s the look where you go deep into his eyes and kiss his soul and remind him of just who you are to him.”

“Ginny, _I’ve_ just recently discovered who I am to him.”

“Yeah, but you’re the only one who didn’t see that coming. The rest of us have known he was sex on a broomstick for some time, and he was making eyes at you that whole year. You don’t have that much unrequited passion for nine months and then let it evaporate. And there were regular letters that were light novellas, really. And have you or have you not rather implied that you’re now trading orgasms back and forth via owl post?”

Hermione laughed, which was hard because she didn’t have quite enough breath for that at this point. “Alright, alright. I get it. I’ll think about it. Can we change the subject, now?”

“Yeah, sure. What are we going to watch on our double date this Saturday?”

“Well, my parents had a pretty extensive collection, so I thought I’d just confer with Harry while we’re there, and then we’d pick maybe half a dozen and describe them to you two and then we could all decide together.”

“Yeah, but if it was just up to you, which movie would we watch?” Ginny asked.

“Oh, it’s a toss up.” And then Hermione described her favorite movies. The first Star Wars. The first Indiana Jones. Clue. The Pirates of Penzance. “Or of course, there is Monty Python and the Holy Grail.”

Early into the final explanation Ginny was howling with laughter.

“Yes, well, I can see where your vote is going to go.”

* * *

By the time Saturday rolled around Hermione neither had the time nor the energy to deal much with Grims, though this was the morning they were meant to go through the items left in the vault with a fine toothed comb. When she had whinged a bit about it to Viktor the night before he rubbed her shoulders in silence for a bit, and his hands felt absolutely heavenly.

“Do not make the simple complicated, Myon. Go into the vault. Order her to take everything out and everything that is surplus or undecided, have her put in the nursery for now. Later you go through only the undecided. Meanwhile, tomorrow morning, you finish at the bank and go get yourself a coffee, or spend some time in the bookshop and relax. You are too busy with too many important things to let trivial things that should be someone else’s problem clutter up your mind, or your morning. Delegate, and let it go. 

“Also, I tell you plainly, I do not approve of Grims remaining Head Elf for very long. She does not have enough respect for you. I have been studying very closely the ritual in the stones for your Seating and I have a very bad feeling about doing this ritual with that elf. Trust is so much a part of it and there must be the capacity for trust.”

When Hermione tried to make excuses for her, Viktor begged her to stop.

“Please, Myon. Listen.” He paused his work on her shoulders and just held his hands there. “I am not speaking for Grims. I am speaking for me, and I too am a part of the ritual. _I cannot trust her._ She is _not_ the way head elves are supposed to be. There is no way she can show a change that will change my mind on this because I believe you have already seen who she really is. It is not about making a bad first impression.”

Hermione sighed. She didn’t quite agree with him regarding Grims’ character, but she could acknowledge that he might be right regardless, and he seemed quite certain that he couldn’t trust her, and there was that.

“After November first,” she said. “We’ll be recording the lore and everything that is done that day, and it’s the lore I really want to know about. I’m not clear that any other elf would have that and I’m not willing to give that up if I have a chance of getting it all down on paper. And hopefully by then I’ll have a decent idea of who her replacement should be.”

“After November first,” Viktor agreed. “Thank you, Myon.”

The massage had continued after that and had become a delightfully full-bodied thing, after which Hermione was a pool of jelly in his hands on their bed in the cottage. And then the massage had become a delightfully sensuous thing that had her writhing with more pleasure and desire than she had ever remembered having outside of the Valley of Marathon Sex. She orgasmed three times that night, which stunned her.

It was the memory of Viktor’s hands on her, calming, soothing, and safe that got her through a solo trip with Grims to the vault in Gringotts. It was rather a short trip, really, but Gringotts wasn’t her favorite place to be to begin with, and this time there was no buffer between her and her head elf. And of course since the conversation with Viktor she couldn’t help but notice, _really notice,_ that Grims despised her. Hermione had imagined some progress and perhaps had relied too heavily on Luna’s insight that it would just take time for her to come around… but no. Grims deeply loathed her and while Hermione was entirely sympathetic about it, it didn’t mean that she could stand that attitude in someone who was in such a trusted position. No, it was definitely a moment where Viktor’s wisdom and experience in estate management trumped her soft heart. Grims was on the way out, whether or not she knew it. And she was just petty enough that Hermione didn’t want to give her any inkling before hand, just in case the elf decided to do something drastic and underhanded.

Months living with Kreacher had been quite informative on how far an elf could go without actually violating whatever internal watchdog they had.

The chore finished and Grims duly dispatched back to Wales with the rest of the contents of the vault, Hermione repaired to Trilby’s for a coffee outside. The weather was crisp but still beautiful and she had been forewarned and thus had arrived forearmed. The best and most calming thing for her at this point wasn’t even a walk in a bookshop. It was to write Viktor and given that it was Saturday morning, he was due a letter from her.

She checked her date book and was reminded that Ely was playing at Puddlemere United today, Viktor’s first away game, but she couldn’t for the life of her remember if it was an outdoor stadium or not. Probably. They were more common, but PU was in a big city. She couldn’t remember which one, of course. But hadn’t Oliver joined them as reserve keeper? It was toward the end of the season, so he might be playing anyway.

Hermione mentally shrugged, put her date book away and pulled out pen and paper. She cast a notice-me-not and a warming charm and then gasped at the pain in her arm.

What? _What?_

She pulled up her sleeve and watched the last ‘D’ of the word, _the healed word,_ get angry, red, and then with horrified eyes, watched the wound reopen and start to bleed again. Just the ‘D’.

Her eyes immediately filled with tears which she tried to blink away, partly because of the shocking spike of pain that she had gotten used to _not_ having and partly out of horror and panic that _the cure hadn’t worked and she was still cursed._

She pressed a napkin to her arm, gently, and called the twins to her. They arrived just next to her and silently took in her situation. One of them snapped her fingers, and Hermione felt colder, but no more pain. The warming charm.

A connection was made in her mind as the elves stood quietly next to her. She counted out the days in her head. The morning of September first, she began the cure. No spells, charms, or potions _on herself_ for eight days. She hadn’t apparated. She hadn’t travelled by floo. All her professors had known and didn’t ask her to do anything to herself, and she hadn’t drunk any potions or cast any charms on herse--

She had.

She met with Elizabeth for the first time on the _seventh._ And Grims. And Firenze. _And Gelwyn, underwater, where she cast two separate charms on herself._

Oh, fuck.

Hermione looked over at her personal elves, who were holding the tips of their ears in their hands.

“I messed this up, didn’t I?” she whispered.

They nodded slowly, looking like they wanted to be anywhere else.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” she said, wanting to cry for their fear as well as her own stupid, sorry self. “I’m not going to take it out on you. My idiocy is my own problem, not yours.”

“Miss Cissy will be mad at us. We let you fail. We let you fall. Now you cannot use those charms. Those charms are cursed from you to you. It will hurt more and more each time, until the hurt finally does not go away, and you will be cursed forever.”

Hermione closed her eyes and exhaled. Well, shit. She could no longer do the bubble-headed charm on herself, nor the warming charm.

But Viktor had done the warming charm on her countless times since the beginning of September with no ill effects. It really was just from her. To her.

There was an aspect to this that was fascinating. The curse had apparently transferred, or infected, the charms she had used on herself during the time of her healing. But only very specifically. Not all applications of the charm, which meant that her body and the curse could differentiate between Viktor’s magic and her own. She wondered if changing wands would make any difference at all. Briefly, Hermione’s mind took refuge in the intellectual fascination of it all before cycling back around to her present predicament.

“Narcissa won’t be mad because we’re not going to tell her for a very long time. You did not let me fail, nor fall. There are some things you can’t control in this world, and I’m one of them. And besides this, just now you saved me from myself. You ended the charm, you helped me to realize what I’d done and you told me in no uncertain terms what the consequences were. You’ve just saved me from being cursed forever, and I’m very, very grateful. I won't ever do those charms again on myself.”

They looked slightly less afraid.

“Thank you, dear ones, for taking the pain away again.”

And then Hermione had two house elves, one on each side, with their heads laid against her thighs as she sat at the cafe table outside the coffee house. She took the bloody napkin away from her arm, which was looking healed and innocent again, and crumpled it up next to her coffee, then put both hands on their backs and rubbed slightly.

“We’re all going to be alright, now,” she reassured them softly. “She can’t hurt us anymore.” But even as she said it, Hermione realized that she had lied. Bellatrix could still hurt her, and possibly the twins, and would continue to hurt them as long as they still gave her the power to do so.

Somehow, Hermione considered, she had given her power away, just like Ginny had been talking about the other day while running. Now she just needed to figure out how to get it back again.

* * *

 _October 16, 199_  
_ _Trilby's Coffee House, London_

_My darling Viktor,_

_You are in love with an idiot. But thank you for the recommendations concerning the head elf. I think you’re entirely correct and I believe I was letting my desire for her to be redeemed get in the way of properly seeing who she really was. But I digress. My recent idiocy._

_I can no longer perform the bubble-headed charm nor the warming charm on myself, on pain of bringing my curse and all its agonizing pain back, permanently. Why? Because those are the charms I accidentally performed on myself during the period of time in which I should have done no magic to or on myself. No charm, no spell, no potion._

_It could be worse. That’s what I’m trying to tell myself. And I can take those charms from other people, and I can give them to others. But to me from me, I curse myself. Narcissa did warn me, and it’s just my own damn fault I forgot. And I had been so careful! But I suppose that is a good thing. Only two charms are cursed for me, one rather minor, and it could be much worse. It could have been reparo, or finite, or lumos. Or floo travel, or headache potion, or something that I just need to use all the time. It could have been patronus, or expelliarmus, or alohomora, or accio. Instead, it’s thermos._

_I suspect the curse has just shifted from my arm to my magical core and is only activated by the application of those spells on myself, and so I must warn you in all good conscience: Viktor, I am still cursed, and I will be cursed for the rest of my life. I would understand if you wanted to back out of our engagement._

_I hope you flew well against Puddlemere United._

_I’m sorry this isn’t a nicer letter. Sometimes I wish it could be all rubber ducks, all the time, and then I fall into the ocean and just keep falling._

_Write to me and tell me whether or not you wish to break off our engagement. I’ll be at home._

_Yours, for now,  
_ _Hermione_

* * *

 _October 16, 199_  
_ _The Cross Hotel, Ely_

_My beautiful Myon,_

_You are not an idiot. I still wish to marry you. Stop being thick-headed about this, and stop doubting my love for you. It was the horcrux that wanted you to believe I could not love you, could not forgive you, would not be faithful to you, and that we could never be together and happy for long. It is a cruel lie, and exactly opposite to the truth. Whenever you have such doubts, Myon, consider that it is the exact, perfect opposite of what is true. Turn the statement around entirely, and there you will find the truth._

_I will always love you, with my heart and soul and mind and body._

_I will always forgive you and we will find a way through if and when we hurt each other._

_I will always be faithful to you, for I could not be otherwise._

_We are already together and we will remain together and grow only closer and we already enjoy great happiness with one another and will continue to do so._

_Concerning the curse, I suspect it is dormant, until activated. Which means you are not actively cursed, and you need never experience the effects of the curse again. There are many alternatives to the bubble-headed charm that are, in my opinion, far superior. Are you aware, perhaps, of the water plug charm? It would allow you to converse with Gelwyn without immersing yourself in the lake. If you cannot find it in your texts, I will teach it to you. I learned it in Russian, but the pronunciation is not difficult and you will master it easily, I think._

_The warming charm is more basic in nature, and while I am curious if you could cast it in a different language on yourself, or cast it as you know it but on your clothes rather than your body, my intellectual curiosity will have to go unmet today because it is far too dangerous with such dire consequences for us to find out. I’m sure you have considered these avenues, too, Hermione. I beg you. Do not try them. Please, Myon. Wear a scarf instead. And know that when you are with me I will never allow you to be cold._

_I am glad you have seen reason concerning your head elf, and I do not like her remaining in the position for another day, to say nothing of two more weeks, but I do acknowledge your point. The lore is important to you and there is no knowing right now if another elf could give it completely. Still. I’m sure if quizzed most particularly between all sixty-three of your Pendragon elves, a complete account could be compiled, however much effort it would take. Keep this in mind, should Grims do something particularly hateful between now and the first of November._

_And to that end, I have given this more thought. As she is who she is, I do not think her removal as head elf will be enough. I’m not saying you need to give her clothes, though such a threat might be helpful should push come to shove. But I think she should stay with the Hogwarts elves. I do not think she should have access to you, our home, or our children in the future. Discuss this with Minerva, perhaps. I would not wish her to be exiled from you half way through the year, only to be able to terrorize you as head elf at Hogwarts for the rest of the year, or any time you return on business._

_I’m sorry your morning has been so difficult. My morning also sucked, but less than yours. The Inferi lost to Puddlemere United. Our excellent keeper was injured ten minutes in and was out for the next ninety minutes, which happened to be roughly when I caught the snitch. Our reserve keeper is not so good as Kaminski, and I think, too, that our beaters were demoralized by missing the trick and allowing her to be injured, for they missed many opportunities to show their strength and the trickle-down effect was somewhat catastrophic, at least to Ely’s chances. We will still make it to the semi-finals, provided we win against the Bandits, the Lords, and the Lions in the next three games, but it does affect what standing we have and whom we will play. Bah. But it is a game, and essentially meaningless. We did our best, which was in this case not good enough. So it goes._

_Fuck it. I’m going to go take a nap, and then go for a run, and then maybe a quick swim at the cottage and after this, I am sure, I will feel better. Maybe today I will run through the neighborhood at Ramsgate. Thank you, my sweet and thoughtful Myon, for allowing me access to that property. The ocean heals all things._

_Still very deeply in love with you,_

_Viktor_

* * *

_16/10/9__

_Viktor,_

_I hope the run and the swim and the nap were helpful. I figured you would be hungry so I had the twins prepare you a snack. I specifically requested fruit and protein, but I wouldn’t be surprised if you got a five course meal. They like you. Thank you for loving me, still._

_XO,_

_H_

* * *

“That’s it? That’s how the movie ends?” Harry asked incredulously. 

Hermione just laughed.

“But where was Morgana?” Ginny asked, no less incensed. “They totally wrote her out of the story!”

Hermione, still laughing, just nodded.

Viktor looked over at her with a small grin on his face. He had his arm around her on the couch and she had been snuggled into him for most of the movie. “It was a very silly movie. I liked the ongoing conversation about coconuts, though. And the reading from the book of armaments. It is like that sometimes, in church. They captured St. Paul’s love of rhetoric perfectly.”

“And the bunny,” Hermione said, giggling.

“Yeah, alright. The minstrel was pretty funny,” Ginny admitted with a grin.

“I liked the grail light,” Harry pointed out.

“You would,” Ginny agreed.

“That man had heroic self-restraint,” Viktor pointed out as they watched the credits roll.

“Nah,” Hermione said. “Just willpower. If he had self-restraint he would have stayed and destroyed the grail light. He ran. That’s willpower.”

Viktor chuckled and kissed the top of her head.


	22. Chapter 19: Wherein many announcements are made.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s not a good day to be Reginald Paltry. He tries very hard. He is, in fact, very, very trying.

_CORONATION ANNOUNCEMENT  
_ _Received by Luna Lovegood_

_Her Royal Majesty Queen Elizabeth II will crown Her Royal Majesty Hermione the Pendragon Regent and Viscountess Black as the Queen Regent of Avalon at sunset on December 31, 199_ at the Pendragon Seat in Wales._

_Further information will be provided as it is available._

* * *

_CORONATION ANNOUNCED!  
_ _Daily Prophet Staff Writer_

_In a stunning move, Her Royal Majesty Queen Elizabeth II has reached out to_ _this very newspaper_ _to announce that she will crown the Viscountess Black and Pendragon Scion, Lady Hermione Jean Granger Black Pendragon, Order of Merlin (1st Class) and confirm her as “Queen Regent of Avalon” at sunset on December 31, 199_, at the Pendragon seat in Wales._

_When reached for comment, Her Royal Majesty had the following to say: “We have made our announcement and we are frankly confused as to why you are faffing about and not announcing it. Henceforth we shall make all our announcements with the Quibblers and you may, until the end of time, direct any further queries of us to the Regent of Avalon who is at present Her Royal Majesty, Queen Hermione. That is why we have a regent for Avalon.”_

_When reached for comment, Lady Narcissa Malfoy, Countess Black had the following to say: “Further announcements concerning the coronation of Her Royal Majesty will be made in the due course of time. Until then, you would do very well, Mr. Paltry, to simply announce what Her Majesty wishes you to announce. Good day.”_

_When reached for comment, Mr. Viktor Krum, Star Seeker of the Ely Inferi, International Quidditch Phenomenon, and the lucky man betrothed to Lady Hermione had the following to say: “That is Her Royal Majesty, to you. Treat her with respect. Now, go away.”_

_Lady Hermione could not be reached for comment, as this reporter is frankly terrified of the Headmistress of Hogwarts._

* * *

_October 20, 199_  
_ _Hogwarts Castle_

_Dear Elizabeth,_

_Our fifth year at Hogwarts, or the year I started an army and threw our torturing, bigoted toad of a defence teacher to the Centaurs (they didn’t eat her, nor give her cooties, but they did restrain her admirably) there was constant harassment and terror, but very little danger besides starting a clandestine army, participating in the Battle of the Hall of Prophecy as it is now known (this is when Sirius died, killed by Bellatrix, his cousin, and where I got a very lovely scar that remains bright purple, two inches thick and two feet long across my torso), and faced down the sadistic, psychotic harpy that was the defence teacher that year. Also, she was a crap teacher. I was able to avoid her torture, but Harry has permanent scars on his arm. She made him write lines with a special quill that wrote in his own blood that it took from his body and as he wrote on the parchment, it carved into his arm. My arm scar says ‘MUDBLOOD’. His says, ‘I must not tell lies.’ In his own handwriting. For the record, he wasn’t telling lies. This is also the year that Tom really started capitalizing on his connection with Harry and messing with his mind making him even more volatile than your average fifteen year old boy. Yes, the Headmaster very much wanted to get rid of the harpy and possibly kill her himself, but his hand was forced by the Minister of Magic, who was firmly in Lucius Malfoy’s pocket and rather an idiot to boot. (Why yes, let’s do use school children as pawns in war. By all means. Lovely gambit, you amoral nitwits.)_

_And you’re absolutely right. There needs to be more checks and balances and a clearer separation of power._

_And changing the subject, because it’s hard to go into details from fifth year on, so many pureblood names end up being somehow prescient. A little boy attacked and turned into a lifelong werewolf named Remus Lupin. The violent madwoman’s name translates to Warlike Strange One. The toad’s name translates to Insult and Injury. How very apropos it all is. Remind me to be very mindful of how I name my children. It’s all quite the opposite of how it seems to happen in the non-magical world, where if you name your daughter Faith she will have none, likewise Chastity, Charity, Hope, and Grace. Perhaps a middle ground could be sought. Common names as names, but full of meaning, like Michael or Elizabeth. (Would you mind terribly if we named a daughter after you? First, you’re every bit as strong as your predecessor, second it means blessing and it’s hard to see that in a bad light.)_

_I’m sending all sorts of ongoing details about the coronation planning another day and I may just keep most of that separate now._

_For the next few letters, expect them to be shorter. No more detail than necessary, or I’ll start crying and I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop._

_Bye for now,  
_ _Hermione_

* * *

_October 21, 199_  
_ _Buckingham Palace_

_Dear Hermione,_

_So you started a clandestine and much needed army at the age of sixteen and then fought in your first battle. No, I quite see why I ought to knight you._

_I would be honored if you named a daughter after me._

_Feel free to take a break in your weekly recitation of how you nearly died that year. Tell me some other aspect of the differences between the two worlds you have experienced. Tell me of ley lines or blood magic or potions. It does not all need to be pain and death, Hermione. It normally isn’t._

_Take the time you need to tell the story you need to tell and whether there are many details or few, let it be the story you need to tell. And take the time you need in order to heal, dear child. Healing is the most important thing now, now that you have survived._

_Long or short, I appreciate your letters. Thank you for your candor, Hermione. And thank you for your service to my realm in keeping it free of tyranny._

_Yours,  
_ _Elizabeth_

* * *

Ginny held up a t-shirt. It was Gryffindor red. On the front it had the Pendragon shield large as life with the year beneath it. On the back it said in bold capital letters that filled the entire shirt, ‘I WAS THERE’.

Hermione nodded. “I like it.”

“We’ll have them in different colors, and different sizes. Luna’s helping me with the specialty programme and we’re going to do schedules, quotes, descriptions of each of the plays, info on everyone who’s on the stage, thank you lists of donors, bios on all the key participants ahead of time, plus mini interviews, and lots and lots of pictures. Chock full of pictures.”

“Hold off on mentioning it in any way to the elves participating in the ritual until after November first.”

Ginny looked at Hermione in silence for a long moment. “Okay. Not a problem. If I create some interview questions for Queen Elizabeth do you think she’d be game?”

Hermione nodded. “She’d do it for this, I think. I’ll ask nicely.”

“If I ask you nicely, will you and Viktor do an interview?”

“Yes,” Hermione said, on a sigh.

“What about your Blood Magic Master? Harris? Would he be willing to do an interview?”

“I’m sure he would. Write him a note and I’ll give it to him. What else have you got?”

“A series of badges, including the Pendragon shield and the I WAS THERE logo on different colored backgrounds, and a full double set of commemorative postcards, one set with moving pictures, one with static pictures, and I really need you two to be game for doing some really excellent pictures and no skimping or playing coy and shy at the last minute. I need you to bring the sexy bosswitch, Hermione. And I know Viktor can do more than scowl. Did you know about the French magazine spread he did? Mum’s finally talking to me again and _that_ was her opening salvo. Apparently Fleur gets that magazine.” Ginny shook her head as Hermione blushed crimson. “Anyway, pictures, at least three really good ones each with moving and static versions, and then at least two together. At least. These postcards are going to really sell, and if the pictures are good enough, we may sell larger versions, too. Have you found Excalibur’s scabbard, yet? We’ll want you all dressed up like you’ll be at the coronation. Viktor, too, in his wedding clothes. But then maybe a few more casual pictures. But I promise not too many changes of clothes.”

Hermione sighed. She knew she needed to do this, but she wasn’t sure about bringing any sexy bosswitch.

“Now, for four weeks after, Luna is going to run one of the pictures in _The Quibbler_ in a short advertisement with a clip-and-send coupon to allow for post-coronation ordering, and since her office is going to handle that for us, we negotiated a 25% cut for her, which I think is fair. I mean, I’ll handle the reordering, but she’s going to do everything else. Of course, they’re also going to be slightly more expensive, in order to cover postage and a bit of the fee.”

“Now, I’ll keep a strict accounting. George is teaching me how to do that, and I can go over everything with you once it’s over. I’m putting things through the Potter vault for now, fronting the costs and what not, but at the end I’ll pay Luna her fees for the post-coronation sales, I’ll pay my workers for staffing the kiosks, and I’ll pay Harry back for the initial investment, and then there should be a tidy sum to hand over to Augusta to pay off the Ministry for providing security and crowd control. I understand Narcissa, so far, has twisted enough arms that everyone has donated their services. That woman is a _marvel.”_

“And what about you? Shouldn’t you be paying yourself?”

Ginny waved her off. “Think of it as an unpaid apprenticeship in business management. And thank you for trusting me with the project. I mean, this is what I want to learn how to do, ‘Mione. And I’m so excited! Now, those were the basic items - shirt, badge, picture, programme, but now, what do you think about this…”

And then she was off. Hermione paid strict attention because she knew she ought to. But she didn’t care about sword-in-the-stone paperweights, or Pendragon Castle snow globes. Though she could get Elizabeth one of the paperweights for Christmas, perhaps, along with the dragonhide gloves she was thinking of bespeaking for her and Charles.

* * *

_CORONATION FESTIVAL ANNOUNCED!  
_ _Daily Prophet Staff Writer_

_In a move of shocking cross-line solidarity, Madam Augusta Longbottom of Long Bottom and Lady Narcissa Malfoy, Countess Black have joined together to announce that Lady Hermione, Viscountess Black’s pending coronation will not be merely a quiet affair tucked away in Wales with a select few dignitaries in attendance, but rather part of a three-day festival. What can we expect?_

_When reached for comment, Madam Longbottom had the following to say: “Her proper honorific is Her Royal Majesty, you twit. And if you don’t start simply making announcements instead of trying to report on news that does not yet exist, we shall stop using you entirely.”_

_When reached for comment, the Countess Black had the following to say: “Read The Quibbler.”_

_When reached for comment, International Quidditch star Viktor Krum had the following to say: “How did you get in here? Go away.”_

* * *

_CORONATION FESTIVAL ANNOUNCEMENT  
_ _Received by Luna Lovegood_

_Madam Augusta Longbottom of Long Bottom joins with Lady Narcissa Malfoy, Countess Black to joyfully announce a three-day festival celebration surrounding the coronation of Her Royal Majesty Hermione. The festival will commence at dawn on the morning of the 31st of December of this year and will be complete at dusk on the afternoon of the 2nd of January of the coming year. The guest list will include national and international dignitaries, the entire body of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales, various friends and family of Her Royal Majesty, and others. A lottery will be held on December 1st for tickets, and a special lottery for squibs and their families. All witches, wizards, squibs, and muggle parents of magical children should clip the coupon that will be included after this announcement and send it to the address listed. Only one entrant per family, please. All entertainment will be announced at a later date._

_Further information will be released when it is available. Coupons will run weekly in The Quibbler until the 20th of November._

* * *

_October 23, 199_  
_ _Hogwarts Castle_

_Dearest Viktor,_

_I write to you this morning with calmness of bearing and a clarity of heart. No tragedy has befallen me, though I have not yet finished with my essays for the week, so I am not yet able to engage in those extracurricular activities I find so fascinating. But in another two hours I will be able to put some good work in on my curriculum proposal, then shift gears and consider the conundrum of Christmas presents for all of my nearest and dearest, which have increased in number, despite the lack of my parents. What are your general feelings on shopping trips? Dreaded? Neutral? Enjoyable under the right circumstances? Perhaps if your game doesn’t leave you needing significant recovery you might be persuaded to come with? We might get dinner out. Consider it, and send me a message if you want to meet at Gringotts and go from there._

_I hope your game against Nottingham went well, and I know that regardless of winning and losing, you played well because that is what you do. If you do in fact make it to the semi-finals, would that be a game I might attend? Perhaps I could invite Narcissa and Draco? That would be November 13, and Draco would certainly be back in-country by then. And no, I will not bring a book. Well, of course I’ll_ _bring_ _one because I never fail to bring a book with me wherever I go, that’s just silliness. You never know when you might have a moment to read. But I have no particular intention to read during that game. I’m sure it will be thrilling. At least, watching you will be._

_At the risk of sounding repetitive, I would just like to say how much I love you. How grateful I am that you are who you are; kind, wise, generous, beautiful, inspiring, intelligent, and in love with me. Thank you for your conviction and your resolve and your utter dedication to those things that are important in your life. You inspire me, Viktor, to do better. To be better. To love better. To live better._

_I’m looking forward to spending time with you this evening no matter what else occurs, and to hosting dinner for your parents and the Potters tomorrow night at Ramsgate. It’s thrilling to have furniture._

_I adore you,  
_ _Hermione_

* * *

_October 23, 199_  
_ _The Cross Hotel, Ely_

_My sweet Myon,_

_I am happy to report that the Inferi have crushed the Bandits and I managed to play a rare and extremely satisfying set of games involving the mind-fuckery of both their first and second string seekers. It was almost too much fun. Sometimes I’m shocked that they pay me for this._

_I would be delighted to go shopping with you, Myon, and thence to dinner. Shall we say 3pm at Gringotts in London? Just after the coronation festival we shall take a day in Diagon Alley and at least transact some very particular business at Gringotts. I must close my temporary deposit box and sign the papers to transfer things to the Pendragon vault, and I would ask that you officially give me access to that vault, as well._

_There are several hours between now and then, but I know you have many things to do. As do I. I am half way through_ _The Hobbit_ _by J.R.R. Tolkien (Now there is a thought. You could be H.J.G.K.P.P.B. Pendragon. No, nevermind.) I like Bilbo very much. He is very fussy, but remarkably resilient. The wizard annoys me a bit, but I have known people like Thorin and I know I would not like to be on an adventure with them. Bilbo has my sympathy._

_But before I return to Middle Earth and the depredations of dragons (I can sympathize there quite sincerely, and Smaug sounds much more terrible than even a warring clutch of Ridgebacks) I would like to take a moment to lay out my current favorite fantasy for you, for I trust you are still interested in such things, my beautiful one._

_We are in the Roman Bath and it is blissfully empty. No one will disturb us. The water is on and the cold bath is refreshing and the hot bath is soothing. You have gotten a little too warm and are sitting on the edge of the hot bath, with your feet still in the water. Your legs are glistening. You are entirely naked, as you ought to be in such a fantasy, and certainly it is traditional in a Roman Bath. I am as well. You are totally unselfconscious about your body. You have accepted your beauty and my regard for you._

_The heat and humidity of the room have your hair in tight ringlets that match the curls between your legs. Now that you are out of the water, my hands are on your legs, massaging them and touching them lightly in turn. You are starting to make the sort of breathy sounds that I love and they are echoing off the ceiling and the floor and the water, surrounding me in your pleasure. I am rock hard and aching, but so fascinated by the sounds you make, by the texture of your skin, by the sweet and heady smell of you, that even as it keeps me hard and aroused, also it distracts me and allows me to focus on your pleasure. For now. And soon enough I kiss your legs and you moan. I can’t tell if you’re moaning because of the kisses, or because you know what I want, what I am going to do and you can’t wait. I love you like this, Myon. I love you wanting me so intensely that it pours out of you. You can't wait for me to suck on your clit, for me to taste you and drink you down, and the only thing that keeps me from doing it immediately is that I know it will be even better for you if I get you prepared, first. And so I do. Lips follow hands, and then teeth follow lips and then finally I am at the juncture of your thighs, I am there in your garden, and I will cultivate it just the way you like. Your hands clutch at the back of my head, holding me in place, but there is nowhere else I would rather be just then. Your legs are over my shoulders and my senses are surrounded by you, Myon. I breathe you in. I hear you. I smell you. I taste you. When I look up, I see your head thrown back, your breasts proudly jutting out begging for affection and your passion is so beautiful to me. Only my cock is bereft but at least it is surrounded by hot water. But it is not as hot as you are, nor anything like as tight and so I wait to come until later, later when I can come in you._

_I suck and drink and lick and groan, over and over hearing you grow louder and louder. You do not scream. Even if you wished to, it might deafen us, here, so you refrain. Instead at the height of your desire for me you are whispering my name. Moaning, whining, panting, groaning, and whispering my name._

_This is the fantasy I replay over and over in my head, like my own personal stamina drill until it all becomes too much. Then I take my cock in hand and slowly, achingly drag out the pleasure for as long as I can manage. Oh, I want to come instantly. It would be so good. I want to imagine myself thrusting into you and be gone by the third thrust. But no. It will not do. How can I make love to you for hours if I pursue such a course? I cannot. So I draw out this delicious, almost painful exercise which promises such a strong orgasm when I finally get there. And finally I do, gasping your name._

_And I find myself now totally uninterested in Middle Earth. Perhaps I will need to mentally revisit the Roman Bath before I take my trip to the Lonely Mountain. But make no mistake. I am very much looking forward to spending the afternoon and evening with you, my sweet Myon. You far outstrip my fantasies of you, even if I rarely fantasize about shopping with you._

_You have my heart,  
_ _Viktor_

* * *

_October 25, 199_  
_ _Hogwarts Castle_

_Dear Mum & Dad, _

_I think you’d like Sofia and Gregor Krum. Sofia is definitely the picture of a strong, liberated magical woman. It’s hard to guess their ages accurately, but I know that sort of thing has never bothered you. I think if you had the opportunity, you might be quite good friends, and I know that they will stay with us for a significant portion of each winter, so there is always the possibility that you might come to know each other very well._

_As far as I can tell, Sofia manages the estate and investments and does some lucrative bespoke charms work that also utilizes potions, transfiguration, arithmancy, and ancient runes as necessary. She made Viktor’s portkey, which is reusable, international, intensely strong, and yet the gentlest portkey I’ve ever had the pleasure to travel by._

_Gregor, who is a quiet man, not quite as tall as his wife, but stocky and strong, breeds and trains non-magical guard dogs the size of small Grizzly bears for both the magical and non magical community, and extremely expensive magical roses, and while that might seem like a conundrum, it perfectly fits Gregor Krum. He is an alpha sort of personality, but without being a tyrant. He was endearingly concerned that I might have designs in a Napoleanic vein, and I can certainly see from both of his parents, where Viktor gets his quiet intensity, his iron self-control, his clear determination, his wisdom, and the intensity of his passionate love for me, as well as his obvious intelligence._

_The cottage in Ramsgate is nearly finished, which is to say that there is furniture in some of the rooms, and so I was able to return the invitation to come and have dinner with us, and I invited Harry and Ginny as well, because they are family now and I mean to treat them that way. I’m happy to say that everyone hit it off instantly, and Sofia asked for permission to write to Ginny before they left. We ended after dinner with a walk down to the sea and along the shore which was just so wonderful I can’t even tell you. It feels so_ _civilized_ _, just how you and Dad always have been. I look forward to the day that you can be here, too._

_Love,  
_ _Hermione_

* * *

_October 27, 199_  
_ _Hogwarts Castle_

_Dear Elizabeth,_

_I shall take your advice and leave off describing the sixth year of hell in academia which was definitely the worst as far as academia goes, though of course the year after was just unmitigated hell. I may not even manage complete sentences, then. You may get bullet pointed lists._

_Instead I will tell you how Viktor unintentionally screwed my head on straight regarding house elves._

_So the year I held the campaign for elvish welfare was the year Viktor was at Hogwarts, but life was busy, we both had rather intense schedules academically speaking, then there was the tournament, there was Tom being homicidal and between this and that, possibly exacerbated by the language barrier and me not realizing just how much of his attention I could command if I wished to, Viktor never knew about my views on house elves, and I never knew that he grew up with them._

_So, the day he left he gave me bedroom eyes, handed me his address, and told me to write to him. And perhaps I got as many letters from him in a year as I’ve gotten in the last two months, but that’s down to the language barrier, which he surmounted quite admirably in the end. But at one point early on he mentioned in passing something about one of his house elves - there was a newborn elf, and he had described the naming ceremony that his parents got to participate in. And while it was fascinating to see part of a different culture, it was also horrifying to realize Viktor’s family owned slaves (as I considered it then), so I took my time to very carefully pepper him with questions designed not to judge, but to try to figure out how this made sense to pureblood wizards. I figured at the least it would help my campaign when I was an adult._

_I learned a lot in the next two years, over the course of many, many letters. Still, not as much as I know now. What I learned then I thought at first was tainted from the point of view of slave owners justifying a situation from which they benefited greatly, but what I eventually understood was the basis of what I’m learning now._

_Wizards and Elves are in a symbiotic relationship. I thought then it was just Wizards and Elves, but I’m starting to understand now that Centaurs and Merfolk are also a part of it all. And individuals can abuse relationships, as I saw with Dobby, may he rest in peace, who had been Lucius’ personal elf, and who he had abused greatly over the course of many years, I think, and possibly much more so than Bellatrix had abused Tampy and Pampy before Narcissa took them away from her._

_What I got then was a very incomplete picture, seen from an angle of logic and reason. Tradition says Wizards and Elves need each other. Reason asks why? Tradition says they’re in a symbiotic relationship. Reason says, easy to see what the Wizards get out of it, but what do the Elves get out of it? Tradition says Magic is balanced because of the cooperation of Wizards and Elves. Reason quibbles about definitions; Cooperation? Is that what we call an entire race serving another? Tradition says this is what the Elves want. Reason would like to know that we are certain they’re not brainwashed? Tradition says, ask an elf, any normal elf, ‘would you like to be freed? You and your family? Your whole clan?’ and the answer will always be no. Reason points out that institutionalized slavery can warp the minds and expectations of those under it._

_None of Viktor’s answers really satisfied me, and you can perhaps see why from my list. But what I did come to understand with complete clarity was how profoundly I had offended the elves of Hogwarts, where I held my campaign. And so even though I didn’t understand all the whys, I was dedicated to a) finding them out, b) never assuming I understood someone from outside my own culture, c) asking people if they require rescue before I marshall all my efforts, and d) not offending the people I mean to help._

_And what I’m beginning to understand is that Elves, Merfolk, Centaurs, and Magical People are like four tent pegs holding down Magic in a storm of gale-force winds. All four tent pegs are required. All must bear equal weight, all must participate, all must do their share. And the Magical People who largely do not understand their role as tent peg number four would much rather faff off and do something else, and so to keep them in the circle, tent peg number one offers their service as something like a deep bribe to keep tent peg number four participating._

_Don’t ask me what the participation is, or what it means to be a tent peg. I haven’t figured that out, yet. But it does neatly explain why Merfolk and Centaurs are extremely wary of Magical folk. We’re totally untrustworthy from this point of view. We’re totally self-interested, absorbed in our petty squabbles, and entirely unaware of the benefit or detriment we bring to the rest of the world by existing in one way and failing to exist in another._

_In other news, I’m going to need to study in China at some point. The best ley line scholars are Chinese. I have no idea how this is going to happen, Elizabeth. Also, I don’t speak Chinese and I have very little inclination to learn. More updates as news develops._

_Also, almost to the end of the second month of school and there is no imminent danger. Knocking on wood and waiting for the other shoe to drop._

_Yours,  
_ _Hermione_

_PS - if I can’t find Excalibur’s scabbard I’m going to have to have another one made, aren’t I? Darn it. I will occasionally have to wear the thing. I mean, it’s not going to sit in the stone for the next hundred and twenty years until I die. Could you give me the name of a master leather worker, if you have one? Obviously I’m not handing over Excalibur to anyone even in the short term, but I can measure it, or produce it for measurements._

_PPS - Now that’s the stuff of nightmares. “Hermione Granger, the Woman Who Lost Excalibur.”_

_PPPS - Would you mind terribly answering some interview questions? They’re for our specialty programme for the coronation, and the questions have been created (will have been) by Ginny and Luna who are doing the programme together. I would send a list and you could answer them at your leisure, if you’re amenable._

* * *

_October 28, 199_  
_ _Buckingham Palace_

_Dear Hermione,_

_Well that is interesting. I’m very curious about the tent pegs. Is this entirely your own theory or did some of this exist in the standard knowledge base of either the average wizard or a very specifically learned academic wizard?_

_Included is the name and address of a leatherworker that Pembroke, my secretary, has procured for me. They’ve done some work for us before._

_Chinese is quite difficult, though I suppose if you decide it is worth your while it is, and if you decide it isn’t, it isn’t. But who knows what doors may open up to you after you graduate? I would not worry about it, though it is good to know what you need, so that when the opportunity presents itself you will be ready._

_Returning a moment to the tent pegs and the gale storm, Since the Pendragons are so very trusted by the otherwise quite guarded merfolk and centaurs could it be that it is the Pendragons in particular who are meant to be the fourth tent peg? What knowledge is now lost may once more be gained once you have a translation and thorough grasp of all the scrolls and books in the Pendragon Library. It is not guaranteed by any means, but certainly possible._

_Consider that you may need a librarian, my dear. Sorting it all out thoroughly will be the work of an entire lifetime, and quite satisfying for a certain sort of person. Only, make it someone you trust implicitly and can work with very well, as you will be in such close contact with them, I am sure._

_I am including a set of questions for your master of ceremonies. Send your interview questions. I am resigned._

_Your friend,  
_ _Elizabeth_

* * *

“Miss Granger, a moment, please,” Professor Flitwick said just as NEWT Charms ended.

It wasn’t that she didn’t think he would have noticed. Of course he _noticed._ Hermione supposed she should be grateful he didn’t call her out and embarrass her in the middle of class.

She smiled a tight smile at Harry and Ginny who packed up and left, but not before Ginny mouthed, _we’ll wait outside,_ while pointing at the door.

They’d had to perform the bubble headed charm, as part of a larger project. It was a footnote, and easy win, step one of fifteen. And when Hermione looked at Harry, stricken, he quietly just did hers. She hadn’t even told him about her stupidity. She hadn’t told anyone but Viktor, really. But she gave him that panicked look, and he did it without thinking. God, she loved Harry.

The professor waved her over once the last person was out the door and they both perched comfortably on some stools in a corner of his classroom.

His tiny, high voice was calm and gentle. “Miss Granger, you are an adult, and more responsible than most adults I know. You do not need to tell me why you can no longer perform the bubble headed charm, but if you wish to, I will keep your confidence.”

Hermione cleared her throat and tried to keep from shaking. Suddenly it was very, very hard to not shiver, though she wasn’t cold.

“Take deep breaths, Your Majesty. In and out. In and out. Try to relax your shoulders. In and out. That’s right. In and out.”

“The details,” she said slowly, “are related to a curse from the war.” She continued to breathe deeply and paused again to try and relax her shoulders. “There are two charms I can no longer perform on myself. The bubble headed charm, and thermos. Other people can do it for me. I can do it for them. But not me, for me.”

The professor nodded silently and then looked off in the distance, clearly considering the matter. Finally he spoke. “Thermos, though used more frequently, can be gotten around any number of ways, including dressing appropriately. It’s the bubble headed charm that worries me. Oh, not its underwater usage. That was a happy accident, anyway. There are any number of simple work arounds that you may be already familiar with, and certainly you’re capable of teaching yourself the charms some of them use. I speak to its original function, as a simple way of providing clean air in the midst of deadly contamination. And if an enemy, which I’m sure you will have again at some point in your lifetime, were to know this weakness of yours it would be too easy to exploit.”

He paused, perhaps to let his words sink in, and they did. 

Hermione felt even stupider than before. She had fucked up so much, and now she had opened up herself and Viktor to Chemical Warfare. _Dammit._

“There is no simple work around. The BH _is_ the simple work around for a much harder spell, one that is usually only taught to master level charms students and curse-breakers. But I think you could be capable of it. It is in many ways every bit as difficult as the patronus to master, and that, I recall, you did quite quickly. Would you like me to teach you this charm?”

“Yes, please,” Hermione said, breathing out in relief.

“Let me see your timetable then, and we’ll find a few times that work for us both.”

She pulled it out of her purse even though her hands were shaking. Professor Flitwick, at least, said nothing. 

By the time she left the room she was almost back to normal and when Ginny greeted her with the simple question, “Later?” Hermione only nodded in relief as they walked quickly to their next class.

* * *

_CORONATION FESTIVAL TO HAVE QUIDDITCH EXHIBITION GAMES  
_ _Received by Luna Lovegood_

_At 10:00 AM on the 31st, the Holyhead Harpies will face the Inverness Kelpies. At 2:00 PM on the 1st, the Ely Inferi will face the Dunblane Dementors. At 10:00 AM on the 2nd, the Nottingham Bandits will face the Penzance Pirates. As sunset is expected to be at approximately 4:15 PM, the Harpies vs. Kelpies game will be called at 3:30 PM if it has not already ended, and the Bandits vs. Pirates game will be called at 4:00 PM if it has not already ended._

_The Quibbler kindly reminds our readers that at sunset after the Harpies vs. Kelpies game, the coronation will take place, and at sunset after the Bandits vs. Pirates game the festival will close._

_For previously reported information on Her Royal Majesty Hermione, including the in depth interview of September 11th, please contact The Quibbler offices for back copy ordering information._

_More information will be released as soon as it has been received._

* * *

_CORONATION FESTIVAL ORGANIZERS WISH TO RECOGNIZE DONATIONS  
_ _Received by Luna Lovegood_

_Coronation festival organizers Madam Longbottom and the Countess Black wish to recognize and thank the following donors for their kindness in promising to provide one or more portable residences for the use of squib and muggle born families during the festival. Anyone wishing to join these donors may kindly correspond with the Countess Black by owl at Malfoy Manor._

_All donors are responsible for setting up, taking down, and provisioning the residence._

_Thank you to the following families: Abbott, Avery, Black, Brown, Bulstrode, Burbage, Fawly, Fielding, Flint, Flitwick, Greengrass, Goldstein, Krum, Longbottom, Lovegood, Macmillan, Malfoy, McGonagall, Nott, Ollivander, Patil, Pendragon, Perks, Potter, Pratchett, Prewett, Prince, Rosier, Rowle, Scamander, Selwyn, Shacklebolt, Shafiq, Sinistra, Slughorn, Thomas, Travers, Weasley._

_Thank you to the following organizations: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Home Away From Home portable luxury residences, Glamp Better expandable tent homes, Wanderlust expandable luggage homes, Why Hotel? expandable luggage._

_Coronation festival organizers also wish to recognize and thank the following corporate sponsors for their kindness and generosity. These and many others will be represented in our vendor kiosks including food and items for immediate purchase, and services for subscription, purchase, reservation, or usage. Any corporations wishing to make useful donations may address all inquiries to the Countess Black at Malfoy Manor._

_Thank you to the following organizations: Go, Go, Go! porta-lavs, Sorry, Gotta Go! porta-lavs, Where Can I Go? porta-lavs, We’re Number One (But We’ll Take Number Two) porta-lavs, the Marquis of Marquee entertainment tents for all occasions, Beauty Overhead party tents._

_Finally, the coronation festival organizers wish to thank the House of Windsor for their continued support._

* * *

_CORONATION FESTIVAL TO HAVE A FULLY BOOKED STAGE  
_ _Received by Luna Lovegood_

_Coronation festival organizers Madam Longbottom and the Countess Black would like to announce there will be a stage at the festival which will be fully booked with a variety of entertainment. The line up is as follows, subject to change and the whims of artists:_

_31st of December_

  * _8 AM: The Forkham-cum-Hardfield International Boys and Toads Choir_
  * _10 AM: The Chevy Bang Players present_ _One Sweet Night_
  * _2 PM: Celestina Warbeck_
  * _8 PM: Wyrd Sisters_



_1st of January_

  * _8 AM: Fiddly-on-Stoke Philharmonic Orchestra presents Ravel, Rachmaninoff, & Riot Noise_
  * _10 AM: William Shakespeare’s_ _Comedy of Errors_ _, presented by the Regent Players_
  * _2 PM: The Hedley Crooners_
  * _4 PM: Toady & the Swine_
  * _6 PM: Accio Heelstrike_
  * _8 PM: Murepent_



_2nd of January_

  * _8 AM: Forktwist-on-Avon Philharmonic Orchestra presents selections from the Peer Gynt Suite, Tchicovsky’s Sleeping Beauty, & Night on Bald Mountain_
  * _10 AM: The Cormac Players present_ _The Hopping Frog_
  * _2 PM: The Whomping Willows with special guest H & the P’s_



_The Quibbler would like to kindly assist any of its readers in becoming more familiar with Her Royal Majesty Hermione’s favorite playwright, William Shakespeare. Please send 11 sickles and your name and address to The Quibbler’s offices before December 1st and we will send a study copy of Comedy of Errors within four days, or in the case of backlog, as soon as we can manage, but certainly before its Avalon Premiere on the Pendragon Stage._

_More information will be released as soon as it is received._

* * *

_CORONATION FESTIVAL TO HAVE CIRCUSES  
_ _Received by Luna Lovegood_

_Coronation festival organizers Madam Longbottom and the Countess Black would like to announce that there will be a new circus each day of the festival with various performances running from as early as eight in the morning until as late as eight in the evening, and breaking for the coronation itself. On December 31, Cirque du Magique, on January 1st, Circus Magnificent, and on January 2nd, The Most Wonderful Circus In The World._

_More information will be released as soon as it is received._

* * *

_October 30, 199_  
_ _Hogwarts Castle_

_My beautiful man,_

_Today you have crushed the London Lords. Or perhaps you lost. You are elated and energetic. Or maybe you need a nap and a run and a swim in the icy October waters of the channel because you have lost your mind along with the victory. But you remain Viktor, my beautiful man. And I like to think that either way, win or lose, you may have had fun fucking with their heads._

_I want to ride you like a broom. Quite a bit better than a broom, actually. Thought you should know._

_I want to feel my naked skin against yours. I want your cock to stay firmly outside of me for a while, rubbing in all sorts of good places, getting me so wet, so hot for you. And then I want you inside. I’m not entirely sure what that will be like, but I’ve been practicing with my own fingers and you are a great deal wider and longer than my fingers, Viktor. I’ve also been exercising the muscles we discussed._

_I’m doing it now. Clenching and imagining I’m clenching something thick and long._

_Sometimes, when I masturbate thinking of you, clenching those muscles, I come even harder than usual._

_Oh, Viktor. Oh, God I want you so much. Oh, oh, oh, fuck. Oh, fuck, Viktor._

_Mmm. Excuse the inkblot. I was having a bit of a moment and didn’t realize there were still things like ink and paper in front of me._

_Looking forward to your response, and to seeing you this evening._

_All my love,  
_ _Hermione_

_PS - And now, far more relaxed than before, I’m off to go shopping with the ladies, and then to lunch. I look forward to reading your note when I return. Very much so._

* * *

_October 30, 199_  
_ _The Cross Hotel, Ely_

_My sensuous and beautiful Myon,_

_You leave me gasping in desire, hard and aching and I yearn for the days when I can come home from a game, tempt you away from your tasks and steal an hour or two with you… and I have no words. Well, no gentle ones. I want to fuck you so hard, Myon. I’m breathless with wanting it. And since I can’t possibly fuck you hard right now for so many reasons, I have two choices. I could masturbate hard and fast as many times in a row as I can until I am exhausted. Or… I could lay down on my bed naked, take the headboard in both hands and imagine you have just tied me to your bed. I cannot touch you, I cannot touch myself and you will only speak to me, only touch yourself. But I can speak. I can make suggestions. I can strain and buck and beg. Though if this were not a fantasy, I would beg you to touch me and you would, I hope. You would ride me for your own pleasure._

_If I had the presence of mind, I would beg so beautifully you would call it poetry. I would pour out my heart in love and devotion to you until my need was at such a fever pitch that I could not think straight._

_And then, perhaps, this time, this time you would wrap your lips around me and suck my cock as far as you could into your mouth, your hand finally wrapped around my base, the other around my balls, scratching and pulling and massaging._

_This is the way to get me to scream when I come, Myon._

_I thought you should know.  
_

_In mindless adoration and desire,  
_ _Viktor_

_PS - Ely beat London. Whatever._

* * *

“Subscriptions are up 4,000%. Thanks, Hermione,” Luna said with a smile in her dreamy way.

Hermione leaned up from her reach to obtain more small fried things, and they all toasted the success of The Quibbler subscription rate with glasses of quite nice Malfoi Champagne. They had decided that it was time to celebrate successes large and small, prompted by his gift of two bottles of Champagne and some cheese - one for ‘the rowdy rulebreakers’ and one for the ‘happy couple’, which Hermione took to mean her and Viktor rather than Harry and Ginny.

“It’s October 31st and no one has tried to kill me in months,” Harry posited.

“Long live Harry!” Neville cried and everyone followed.

“Water,” chimed Ginny, and everyone took a large gulp and took a break from celebratory toasts to eat some food.

“Narcissa genuinely thinks she can get my parents back for me,” Hermione said quietly.

“To the Doctors Granger!” Luna cried happily, and everyone toasted their return.

“I had an awesome day with my two favorite women yesterday, and I got a stunning new dress!” Ginny offered.

“To Ginny’s birthday! Many happy returns!” Hermione cried and everyone toasted her.

Everyone looked to Neville, who hadn’t said anything in a while. 

“Well, Gran has been so busy with the coronation, she hasn’t been pestering me about what I’m doing after graduation,” Neville said half-heartedly.

This led to a conversation trying to find where the celebratory moment was in _that_.

“I thought you were going to help me with stuff,” Hermione said, not really bothered if people changed their minds about how far ‘in’ they wanted to be, just wanting to be on top of it all.

“Yep, I will. And that might be a full-time occupation, but it doesn’t exactly have a title, does it?”

“Not unless you give it one,” Ginny said, pointing out the obvious. “Maybe it’s time.”

“Erm,” Hermione paused, having not adequately prepared for this. “Steward? Secretary? Chamberlain? Let’s go with Assistant for now, and figure out exactly what you’ll be doing and change the name later, yes? I also need to figure out how I’m going to pay you.”

Neville waved that off with a snort. “Payment is not necessary, you know. I just want to do something productive in the world.”

“Do you still want to take a mastery in herbology, perhaps part-time?”

Neville nodded. “If I can find one, yeah. I could start talking with Professor Sprout about that.”

“To the Pendragon Regent’s Assistant and his Herbology!” Harry cried, lifting his glass.

They all joined with the toast.

“I’ll talk to Minerva about getting you privileges to leave the castle on business in the evenings and weekends, Neville, but I’ve got your first task as Assistant, if you like.”

“Yeah!” Neville said, all ears.

“I need you to correspond with Bill Weasley at his home, Shell Cottage, and secure his permission to come and visit him privately with several artifacts. Of course you should tell him it’s for me. He’ll figure it out, anyway. I want them checked for dark spells, curses, and other spells which might be of a positive nature. Please write his assessment down for me, and return all the artifacts back to my study. Just because Narcissa is paranoid about curses on the Pendragon jewelry, doesn’t mean she’s necessarily wrong about it.

“Come to think of it, we should get you a dedicated owl so we can put some security charms on it. And when I know it’s not cursed, I’ll give you one of the Pendragon signet rings so you can be identified as acting for me. If I get Minerva’s permission in the next day or so, do you think you can get that done for me in the next seven days?”

“Yes, Ma’am!”

They chatted after that, and before the next toast. Neville had already agreed with Ginny that they would be on hand for Hermione on the 31st of December to run errands and make sure she had what she needed, though Ginny would also be periodically checking on the souvenir kiosks she had already hired fellow students to run in shifts. Harry had agreed to be the Windsors’ chaperone/guide that first day, since he had gotten on so well with the Prince of Wales in particular, and Neville would do the job on their second day, and Arthur Weasley on the third day. Luna, of course, would be fully occupied between the Quibbler kiosks and doing interviews. The talk had shifted to what Neville could expect with the Windsors.

“Remarkably down to earth,” Hermione said.

“Extremely polite,” Ginny added.

“Actually quite nice,” Harry finished.

“I wonder if they’d agree to do an interview,” Luna mused.

“Perhaps. I can ask. But probably not in your interview kiosk,” Hermione replied.

“Augusta and I have been talking about invitations, special guests, and who you’re actually hosting in the castle. I promised I would ask - the number of rooms. Is that a fixed thing, or can the castle be further expanded to host more suites?”

Hermione had _assumed_ the castle’s bedroom count was a fixed thing, but now that she thought about it, that was perhaps a silly thing to assume.

“Grims?” Hermione called, mentally guarding herself against the hatred of her head elf.

“Yes, mistress?” Grims answered formally, standing to one side of her chair.

“I have a question about the Pendragon castle which perhaps you can answer for me.”

“Yes, mistress?” Grims betrayed no emotion whatsoever, which _was_ a discernible improvement from the loathing of a few weeks before. And still, not good enough.

“The castle currently has four large suites, sixteen smaller suites, and a large nursery. Are those numbers fixed?”

“No, mistress.”

“What level of effort is required, and by whom, to increase the number of rooms?”

“A very small level of effort, mistress, by myself and the three elves in charge of space.”

“How many rooms could you add before it would be advisable to stop?”

“Every year we add another four large and another sixteen small, and another five sitting rooms, mistress, before we take them away again. I don’t know about any other number, mistress.”

Hermione nodded, taking it all in. “This November 1st, would you leave the extra rooms in place and not take them away again?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Excellent. Thank you, Grims. That’s all I need right now.”

The elf was gone without another word.

“Woof,” Ginny muttered once the elf left. “Far cry from P&T.”

“Give her time,” Luna said.

Hermione slowly turned her head to look at the most intuitive of the bunch. “What’s your assessment of the Pendragon Head Elf, Luna?” Hermione asked, careful not to use her name.

“Well, everything is changing for all the Pendragon elves, and perhaps they looked forward to the return of the scion most of all of them, the merfolk and centaurs and elves, I mean, but the scion actually returning would mean the most change for them of anyone. And you had been a placeholder for all that was wrong with wizards and witches, but now you’ve gone and apologized, and changed, and they can’t deny that you’re actually quite good. They like you far more than they’re comfortable with. So all you have to do is give them time to settle in, keep your promises, keep being good, and not lose your temper with them and they’ll come around. This is true, I think for all the rest of them. The head elf… possibly. She’s obscured,” Luna said, squinting as if it was, in fact, about vision. “Hard to see.”

“You really do see deeply, don’t you, Luna?” Neville asked.

She only smiled in response.

“To Luna’s insight and campaign to love _everybody!”_ Ginny cried, raising her glass.

Everyone could drink to that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At the present moment we have about five more days of continuous, daily posting until you start to notice that I have to play catch up and write the chapters in between here and there. It's not quite going to get us all the way to Easter, unless I can keep up the hardcore writing I've been doing since mid-January... which is possible but not necessarily likely especially in Holy Week. (Imma priest, yo.)
> 
> Then again, it's not like I'm going to church.
> 
> Then again, I'm filming church at home, which is beyond bizarre, even if it is the new normal.
> 
> All this to say, I'll do daily posting for as long as I can, and then we'll move to a few times a week, or as fast as I can write.


	23. Chapter 20: Wherein the Pendragon Elves return to the Seat.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is November 1st.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big personal announcement at the end. Since all yall have walked with me through quarantine, all yall will be the first to know, now that I've told my husband. (Happy news, happy news)

It was a day of  _ bustling  _ activity.

Grims had  _ forbidden  _ the Twins from setting foot on the Pendragon lands that day and as she was Head Elf, they had no other choice than to obey.

Well before dawn Tampy and Pampy had bidden everyone to rise and had set out an early morning breakfast at the Round Table. They had also prepared two large luncheon baskets, one for an early lunch and one for afternoon tea, as it was expected that the party would return in time for dinner at seven.

Flooing through moments before dawn with all of her advisors except Viktor (who would have to be injured, half dead, or on negotiated leave in order to miss an in-season practice day), several brooms, two luncheon baskets and enough dictaquills for everyone.

They all decided that Hermione would follow Grims. Neville would follow the farming elves. Augusta would follow the kitchen elves. Ginny would follow the water elves. Harry would follow the midden elves. Luna would follow the fabric elves. Narcissa would follow the space elves. Minerva would follow the creature elves. The other elves, including the raising elves, the personal elves, and the old and young elves could be closely followed another time. All would have their dictaquills set to record everything that was said, and all had been reminded by Augusta to narrate what was being done silently, to the extent that it could be observed.

There were at least three, but as many as nine of each specialty of elves and each set had a head elf who made sure that their tagalong human was never left behind.

Following Grims was like following a whirling dervish and Hermione second guessed herself more than once. Three times they had apparated in such quick succession up and back and around that Hermione nearly lost her breakfast, and she was quickly in a state of near constant dizziness.

Distantly, with a part of her brain that wasn’t being rattled around, Hermione wondered if this was Grims’ version of hazing.

And then she finally did lose her stomach, unhappily, in front of Luna and a large group of fabric elves who all looked at her with sympathy. Luna quietly banished her vomit while Grims huffed in impatience.

The incident did not slow Grims down, nor keep her from appearing and disappearing approximately once every four seconds when she was being slow.

Clearly, she oversaw everything, everywhere, keeping everyone on schedule. She congratulated those who worked with efficiency, even if their work was role play only to keep skills sharp. She criticized sharply when she saw younger elves slacking, and that was the only time in the morning that Hermione got to spend two solid minutes in one place.

“Now is more important than ever! How will you remember how to change a diaper if you do not practice! We  _ have  _ a mistress now and she will  _ have  _ children, you layabouts! How will you remember how to treat an infant human if you don’t practice! How will you remember what they should know and be able to do and when, if you don’t practice! Start reciting your tables to your head, right this instant!”

And she waited to make sure they would, which they sullenly did, glancing furtively at Hermione who was certainly still green in the face and didn’t feel like having any children, and certainly not children raised by these elves.

And then Grims shocked the hell out of Hermione by turning around and apologizing.

“Mistress is right to be upset, and Grims will reprimand these elves later. There are some farming elves who would do well in the nursery, and some kitchen elves who wish to trade into farming, and some midden elves who wish to be in the kitchen, and so these elves will apprentice to the head of middens. Before you have children, Mistress, you will have elves who wish to give them love and care, and will be able to do so.”

Hermione found her voice, which was not quite as steady as she would have liked, but it was what it was. “Thank you, Grims. I appreciate the care with which you hold your position and responsibilities,” she said, not wanting to give away the fact that she was firing Grims at the earliest opportunity after today. “The Pendragon elves are very impressive, and that is clearly down to all of the head elves who have led them over the years.”

“Mistress will give up her Black elves, then?” Grims asked shrewdly.

“You would have me break my promises to them? How then could you trust any promises I made to you?” Hermione asked, not specifying what any such promises might be.

“Mistress is honorable,” Grims managed to say before whisking them off to oversee the next grouping. And if they lingered just a second longer in every place, if they had no more violent turns around and around, Hermione made no mention, even if she did look significantly less green.

* * *

By the time it was time for the Telling, everyone had eaten two more meals than Hermione, and vomited significantly fewer times. Everyone saw how she had looked all the way through, and how Grims was treating her, and everyone knew that she had to just endure it until it was over, and then they could fuss to their heart’s content when there were no elves present.

They sufficed in conjuring a truly squashy and comfortable chair for her and preparing a cup of ginger tea with a few plain crackers on the side, and if Narcissa leaned down ever so briefly to whisper an encouraging word, and hidden from the elves, wiped her brow with her cold, wet handkerchief, no who could see was anything but relieved, and she looked slightly better after a few sips and a nibble.

Five different dictaquills recorded Grims’ high-pitched voice first telling a sort of creation story, then a story of some sort of fall from grace, then a flood-and-ark type story. The elf went on for three more hours after that. Hermione didn’t exactly fall asleep where she sat, but she was so bloody  _ dizzy.  _ Neville kept her in ginger tea, but when he tried to urge her to eat a bit of chicken, her stomach roiled and she couldn’t bear it. Toast was next, and that was definitely okay. Three hours in, and with many cups of tea in her, Hermione leaned over and asked Neville if there was any working lavatory nearby, and Ginny and Luna escorted her shortly thereafter. It looked from behind just like the friends had their arms looped together, but from the front it was a bit more obvious that each flanking witch was supporting Hermione as much as they could.

The bathroom just off the Great Hall was interesting, but nothing Hermione cared much about at present.

While they had a tiny moment of privacy, Hermione begged one of them to send an owl to Viktor at The Cross Hotel, in Ely, telling him for her that she wouldn’t be able to see him tonight, and then she preemptively bowed out of running at five the next morning. Ginny promised she would.

Soon enough it ended, though it was all a blur to Hermione. She thanked Grims for allowing them to observe, thanked her round table for spending the day on her behalf and then walked steadily and under her own power to the floo and landed on her hands and knees on the other side, crawling away so others could come through.

Not bothering with things like standing, Hermione just continued to crawl all the way to her bedroom. She kicked her bedroom door closed and paused long enough to just fall over on the soft and fluffy white rug. The bed was a nice idea, but it was far away, in a land called Up, and she knew not how to travel there.

Her unconscious form was not bothered by two small elves, one in a tie-dyed pillowslip, and one in a light blue pillowslip exclaiming over her state, nor cleaning her of soot, nor changing her clothes out for her pajamas, and since they didn’t  _ apparate  _ her into her bed, but rather carefully levitated her in between her sheets, she didn’t wake and vomit one last time.

She didn’t notice the food and water left on her side table, the former under a warming charm. She didn’t notice when Viktor’s heavier form crawled in bed behind her and wrapped his body protectively around hers. She didn’t notice anything until she woke at four in the morning, stumbling to the loo and back again, only to find Viktor in her bed and food on her table and she couldn’t be sure which she was more glad of. She ate and drank as much as she dared, standing in the cool air of her bedroom, before crawling back into the warm, smooth sheets and the blazing hot furnace that was Viktor naked.

“Mm. Myon. Are you well?” he murmured sleepily.

“Mmm hmm,” Hermione responded wordlessly, snuggling into his chest and wrapping one of her arms around his waist.

He pulled her in close and they both fell back asleep for a few more hours of peace.

* * *

They had come through the floo one by one, ladies first, with Luna and Ginny carrying the brooms they had not used and Harry and Neville carrying the luncheon baskets. Minerva, the first through, upon seeing no Hermione, but a trail of soot inimical of one who crawled, quite literally, to bed, had immediately called on Hermione’s personal house elves, though not by their names as she couldn't recall them. 

“I summon the Black Family Elves residing in Hogwarts,” she said, because she could. “See to your mistress,” the Headmistress said when they arrived, looking wary. “And update me on her condition when you are finished.”

By this time both Augusta and Narcissa had arrived and quickly assessed the situation.

“You will allow me to summon Viktor? He must know,” Narcissa said, her face tense, her hands clutched, rather than held together.

“Yes, I daresay you’re right,” Augusta agreed as Luna and Ginny set their burdens down in the other sitting room and removed the soot from their persons. Ginny returned just after Luna, and with a large black snake.

“Is that really necessary, Mrs. Potter?” Augusta muttered, but only just as Harry was coming through. When he saw his wife holding out his therapy snake, he sighed in relief and traded her the basket for the snake.

“Thanks, love,” he murmured, as Saucepot made himself comfortable on Harry’s shoulders.

And then they were all there, relatively clean, physically only a bit tired but mentally exhausted and emotionally on the edge of a volcanic eruption.

“ _ Dammit!”  _ Narcissa whispered under her breath when she failed to make her patronus appear after the third attempt, the last of which she said out loud.

Harry, the only one who prioritized his own emotional health over a hasty reaction, did the charm and looked expectantly, but all were silent and just basking for a moment in the healthy, warm, comforting glow.

“What’s the message, then?” he asked.

“To Viktor, give him the floo address, and tell him to come straight away,” Augusta answered for all.

“Oi, Viktor. We need you. Floo to the Pendragon Suite, Hogwarts,” Harry said, and the stag bounded through the wall and off to the south.

It was three minutes of quiet until the Black Elves popped in, reported briefly to Minerva that they had tucked Hermione into bed, she was in a very deep sleep, and they would prepare some food for her to be ready when she woke.

Minerva accepted this and ordered them to unlock the connecting doors in the Pendragon Suite.

They did, and then they left, and it was silent again. Ginny fidgeted and Harry moved to hold her hand. Narcissa looked even more dreadful than before and Luna kindly led her to a chair at the Round Table and once she sat, left one hand on her shoulder.

Neville walked over to his grandmother, his face troubled and quietly asked in a voice that all the room could witness anyway,  _ “Have I totally failed her, already?” _

“None of that,” Augusta murmured and took his hand in hers, and patted the back of it.

Minerva quietly moved behind Hermione’s rather imposing desk and stood just behind the chair. Her tall figure was framed by the giant tapestry behind it depicting the Pendragon crest. She clutched the back of the chair with white knuckles.

“When Viktor arrives, Harry,” she began, “I do believe we could do with a bit more of your patronus, if you’re able.”

Another two minutes, and the fireplace flamed green and Viktor stepped through, dressed in a dark suit, with a thick coat in one hand and his wand out in the other. Soot fell off of him as he surveyed the room.

“Is Hermione alright?”

“She is sleeping. She will recover,” Minerva said, answering him from across the room.

Viktor narrowed his eyes further and tossed his overcoat to the wall near the fireplace, where it hung itself neatly as if on a hook. He stowed his wand in his sleeve and turned to survey the silent panorama before him.

Harry manifested his patronus and let it graze on unseen grass in the corner. When Viktor lifted an eyebrow at him in silent query, Harry only gave him a crooked smile.

“So. How was the day in Wales?” Viktor asked darkly.

“Informative,” Luna said at the same time Neville said, “Disastrous.”

“ _ I want that elf’s head,”  _ Narcissa snarled.

Viktor walked calmly over to her, pulled out a chair and sat next to her. He gently took one of her hands in both of his. “Tell me why, Narcissa,” he said without discernible emotion in his voice.

She clutched convulsively at his hands.  _ “That elf disgraced her! In front of all of her advisors! In front of all of her  _ **_elves!_ ** _ ”  _ she hissed.

And then Augusta sketched an outline of the day. Everyone in the room knew that Hermione wanted to know the elf lore, and that it had paramount importance. They knew, too, that Hermione was trying to get in the good graces of the Pendragon elves, who had more than small reason to resent her, but that she had been making progress. Still, Augusta touched on it all anyway.

When Augusta was finished, Minerva picked up the thread.

“We know that Hermione has made an unbreakable vow that she will not break faith with the elves, and possibly Grims personally - we don’t know the exact wording, you understand - but aside from her, you are the only person who has something approaching the legal right to reprimand Hermione’s Head Elf, which I think must be done. We already know they don’t recognize Harry as having any rights over them.”

“She’s untrustworthy,” Luna added. “The Head Elf, I mean. It was very obvious today. She’s calculating and cruel. I hadn’t seen that before. The rest of the elves had forgiven Hermione, but I don’t think Grims ever will. I think she was much happier with the hope of a Pendragon than the reality of one. But she can’t be allowed to stay with the Pendragons, I think.”

Viktor nodded and looked to Harry who also nodded his agreement.

“Viktor, if you will sit here,” Minerva said, pulling out the chair she stood behind, “I will call her. I believe a show of force would be appropriate, and so we should all stand behind Viktor, here,” Minerva said, indicating the area behind the desk, to the left and right of the tapestry. “That will do very well, Harry. Thank you for your patronus.”

The stag winked out and the level of anger and anxiety grew perceptibly.

Viktor rose and offered his arm to Narcissa, who took it gratefully, but not before turning around and giving Luna’s hand a squeeze in gratitude. Everyone made their way around the desk. Harry put Saucepot down on the desk slightly off from center, and he coiled. It was comfortable and would conserve body heat, but it would also allow him to spring faster than anyone could draw a wand.

“Wands out,” Augusta advised, and each witch and wizard drew their wand and gripped it firmly, extended and read to cast, except Viktor who laid his gently on the desk before him, and Minerva, standing directly behind him, who had more power to wield over Grims than a wand could bring to bear.

“Call her,” Viktor said.

Minerva did so, and the Head Elf of both Hogwarts and the Pendragons stood before them, in front of the desk.

“Yes, Headmistress?” Grims replied, perceptibly unfazed by the eight angry magical people in front of her.

“Do you know who I am?” Viktor asked.

Grims did not reply, but kept her gaze steadily on the Headmistress.

“Answer him,” Minerva instructed her, staring back.

“No, sir,” Grims replied, now looking at the only wizard seated, and at her Mistress’ desk.

“I am Hermione’s betrothed, and on December 31st, we will be married.”

Grims narrowed her eyes. “Yes, Master. Many happy returns to you, Master.”

“I have been informed of your actions today, Grims. It is clear to me that you have become a disgrace to your kind. You have two options before you. You may choose to leave Pendragon service this very night and so be barred from Pendragon lands and people, and so also escape from the further retribution of those in this room.”

At this Grims scoffed.

“Or you may bide your time. Tomorrow Hermione will remove you as Head Elf. She may bar you from Pendragon lands. But I certainly will not engage in a blood ritual with you as Hermione takes her seat, and so you will be embarrassed then, too. And on December 31st, I will shove clothing into your hands even if the other elves have to hold you down while I do so.”

“If you wait,” Minerva added, “you will not find yourself welcome at Hogwarts come January 1st.”

Grims narrowed her eyes. “I withdraw from service to the house of Pendragon.”

“And your mate?” Minerva prompted.

“We withdraw from service to the house of Pendragon,” Grims amended.

“You are hereby removed as Head Elf of Hogwarts,” Minerva said crisply. “Report to Champy for immediate duty.” When the sullen elf did not do so immediately, Minerva’s eyes narrowed. “ _ Now,”  _ she spat.

Then the room was empty of resentful elves. “We should immediately assign temporary heads, of Hogwarts and Pendragon both. Any recommendations for Viktor from those we have seen today?”

Harry spoke. “Mory is the head of middens, and he was the past Head Elf. He’s Grims’ grandfather, but he’s spry, kind, and has a sense of humor. And he’s already forgiven Hermione, and he didn’t approve of Grims’ behavior at all. Called her a disgrace.”

Minerva looked around and saw nods from everyone. “Do you approve, Viktor?”

He nodded and spoke. “Yes. And it is only temporary. Hermione will make her own decision when she is well.” He turned to Harry and thanked him.

Minerva called Mory, and a tiny wizened old elf appeared, wringing his hands.

“Oh, dear. Oh, dear,” he said, looking at all the assembled magical folk who had not yet put up their wands.

Minerva introduced Viktor and he asked the old elf to act as Head Elf for the time being, until Hermione made her own decision.

The elf sighed. “Yes, yes, that’s best.” He shook his head. “Grims you foolish, foolish elf. What may Mory do, sir? Does the Mistress require anything?”

“No, her personal elves have seen to her.”

Mory nodded. “Those are good girls, to be sure. Devoted. Good to see in an elf. Makes the heart warm, it does.”

“As she and her mate are no longer Pendragon elves, and she is no longer the Head Elf of any grouping, perhaps you could make sure Grims does not associate with any Pendragon elves except yourself, and makes no trouble. If she does, I hope you will feel free to alert me immediately,” Minerva said, and Viktor nodded his agreement.

“Will you also act as head elf of Hogwarts until you remove to Wales?” Minerva asked.

Mory nodded and tugged at his ears. “It would be awkward to have to Heads… butting heads,” he said with a slight grin.

Harry snorted, but it was barely perceptible.

“Indeed,” Minerva said, having no discernable sense of humor at the moment.

“Does sir require a personal elf?” Mory asked.

“Not at this time, thank you,” Viktor responded.

Mory looked to Harry. “Does sir require a personal elf?”

“Yes, I’d love one, thank you,” he replied.

Mory nodded and tugged at his left ear. “Mory will send one in an hour. Things must be sorted, first.” Then he turned back to Viktor. “Mory will listen for sir. Only call and Mory will come.”

“Thank you, Mory. You may go.”

The little elf left and wands were stowed.

Minerva patted Viktor on the shoulder. “Until Hermione is quite well, you’re welcome to stay, or come and go as the case may be. I only ask you be discreet. But then, I know you will be.”

Everyone dispersed deeper into the room, but no one made to leave, yet. Neville collapsed on one of the chairs by the fire and put his head in his hands and Ginny perched on the arm of the chair and put her hand on his back.

“You know she wouldn’t have wanted us to try to call a halt. She wanted that Lore. She would have just overruled us, and then we would have made her look foolish too, her advisors trying to argue with her in front of her elves,” Ginny said, rubbing his back.

“When it was appropriate to do so,” Luna added, “we took care of her as best we could without showing her up. You led the way with that, Neville. And you, Narcissa, gave her great comfort,” the blond added, sitting next to Narcissa on the couch and taking the initiative to hold the older woman’s hand whether or not it was welcome.

“Hermione’s stronger than you all imagine,” Harry stated boldly, even though some looked at him askance. “No, I’m not saying it was appropriate, or good, or right, or anything like that. And it was horrible to watch. And I’m not saying either that everything has to be compared to what we went through in the war. But I bet you when she wakes up, she calls all she had to go through worth it, for what she got. And yeah, I’m still gonna yell at her a bit. But if you think about it from a more dispassionate angle, two essential things were revealed today. The first was Grims’ lore. We have it all written down. She’s now unnecessary, though it’s possible that Mory could have given that to us, it’s also been a long time for him, and there’s no guarantee he even wanted to remember a four hour speech if he didn’t have to. The second thing was Grims’ character. The depth of cruelty wouldn’t have gone away, but she might have been able to hide it quite a bit longer and do more insidious damage over the years until Hermione and Viktor had enough crystal clear evidence to remove her from her position, but she likely would have not been removed from the house unless utter catastrophe fell, and something a lot worse than acting so dishonorably today.”

“Informative,” Luna agreed, nodding.

Neville looked up from his hands. “But still! We’ve got to discuss this with her soon. I mean, I know she’s got goals, and I know they’re important, but this was…”

Augusta laid her hand on her grandson’s back. “Her choice,” she said quietly. “Discuss it with her, certainly. But honor her choice. Always honor her choice. When you cannot, that is when you remove yourself from her service.”

Neville deflated and his head returned to his hands.

“Your care for Hermione does you credit,” Viktor said, “and I am glad she has such compassionate and wise people around her. Now, please excuse me. I must go sit with her.”

He walked out of the room, finding without anyone telling him the door to Hermione’s bedroom out of the three options, as no one had cleaned up the trail of soot on the floor.

Minerva excused herself as well, and Augusta, too, but just when Narcissa might have made her polite excuses and gone back to her empty house to have some entirely justified histrionics, Luna leaned her head on her shoulder and spoke quietly about the difference between champagne grapes and burgundy grapes and whether or not it was likely that Bacchus was annoyed by wizards, or if it was more likely that grapes were just very, very sensitive things, possibly due to being vine-based agriculture. 

Harry sat down on the other side of Narcissa with Saucepot coiled in his lap and the older woman reached a finger out to pet the warm, smooth coils. Harry said something to him in a soft slither of the tongue.

“Aren’t you beautiful?” she murmured.

“Be careful,” Harry warned. “He’s a bit of a flirt.”

Saucepot switched laps and was preening under the Slytherin’s attention.

“Don’t suppose you’re aware of the parseltongue spell, are you?” Ginny asked once Luna was finished with her remarkably calming monologue on grapes.

Narcissa demurred. “Only in legend. It was Salazar’s gift and curse to himself and his heirs, though not all of them, after a while. One cannot lie in parseltongue, you know. So it was a way of keeping honesty among the ranks. And terrifying the enemy, of course. But there are always lies of omission, and that parseltongue does not guard against.”

“That makes sense. Saucepot is always brutally honest,” Harry commented. “And the Basilisk was, too, come to think of it.”

“We’re thinking of becoming parselmouths, if we can,” Luna pointed out.

“Really?” Narcissa asked, mildly incredulous.

“Hmm,” Luna confirmed. “Think of how useful it could be. I’d love to be able to converse with all animals, if I could. But snakes are a good start.”

“But if you were all parselmouths, how could you speak in public?” Narcissa asked.

“What do you mean?” asked Neville.

“You wouldn’t be able to speak anything  _ but  _ parseltongue to someone who can also speak it.”

Luna giggled.

“Try it now,” Ginny urged. “Harry, try to say something to Saucepot, but not in parseltongue.”

Harry hissed. He looked up, his brow hopeful, only to see Ginny shaking her head. He tried again. He tried three more times after that.

“What if,” Luna posited, “you spoke to Saucepot in content, but actually directed your comments to me?”

“Sorry about this, Saucepot,” Harry said, clearly understood by all.

“See, easy!” Luna said happily.

“Oh, Luna. Easy for you. Probably not for the rest of us,” Ginny said.

Luna shrugged, her head still on Narcissa’s shoulder.

Narcissa looked down and stroked the snake’s head. “Tell me, Saucepot. Can you understand what I say when I say it, or perhaps just the emotion behind my words?”

Saucepot hissed and Harry translated. “He says he understands you, but not the difference you just pointed out.”

The older woman continued to direct her conversation to the snake. “Do you hear a difference between how Harry speaks to you and how I speak to you?”

Harry and Saucepot proceeded to have a private conversation of some length.

Finally Harry looked up. “Yes.”

“That’s it? Yes?” Luna asked.

“Well he does get rather saucy, and you know he likes to flirt. Most of what we said wasn’t pertinent to the question. But I think Parseltongue comes across as more specific, like fluency in a native tongue, rather than understanding the gist in a foreign language. Maybe. Hard to say. He’s a snake.”

“Well, if you did ever find the charm and you’re willing to experiment and take the risks inherent in that - though I’d recommend you get a master arithmancer to run the calculations for you - you might be able to alter the charm so that you are able to understand, but not speak parseltongue. Or of course you might try to alter it so that you only speak it when you consciously choose. But before you decide to do so, you should ask your Charms Master for details on all that can go wrong with experimental charms work on yourself,” Narcissa pointed out, still calmly stroking the four foot coiled black rat snake on her lap.

“So you’re saying,” Ginny said, “Don’t get your hopes up?”

“No, she’s saying don’t be a Gryffindor about it,” Luna responded.

Narcissa didn’t quite repress her smirk.

“I don’t get it,” Neville responded.

“We should fully research the spell, all the versions, ask experts, weigh the pros and cons, and after all that, we might decide it’s far too likely that we’ll end up losing our ability to speak anything  _ but  _ Parseltongue, and so we let it go. What we absolutely  _ should not do  _ is try the spell the moment we get our hands on it, or a viable variant.”

“Riiight,” Neville said, much calmer than he had been. “That does sound stupid when you put it in context.”

“Not stupid,” Narcissa corrected quickly. “No house has sole claim to  _ that  _ trait. Just, perhaps a tad reckless...”

“I can see it,” Ginny admitted.

After a long moment of quiet in which Narcissa continued to stroke the snake, the older woman began making her apologies and preparing to leave, thanking them all for a time of quiet and gentleness after such a tumultuous day.

“You can take Saucepot with you tonight, if you want. Bring him back in the morning.”

Narcissa demurred in a rather unconvincing manner, given her possessive hold on the black snake.

Harry shrugged. “It’s up to you. Just don’t put him in one of those glass cage things. He hates those. If you wouldn’t want to sleep with him, a basket with a pillow in and a warming charm is his favorite. And he’s already eaten this week, but a little fresh water in a dish would be good. And of course if you  _ happen to have  _ a rat you need getting rid of, Saucepot is your guy. And if you’ve got small edibles around, like kittens, just tell him very clearly that he cannot eat them.”

Narcissa gathered up the snake in her hands and held him at eye level. “Would you like to come spend the night with Aunt Narcissa?” she asked, almost cooing.

And that was that.

As Harry and Ginny were getting ready for bed, Ginny pointed out, “Mom would flip if we named Narcissa as a godmother to any of our children, but I’m tempted. And if she’s ready to be Saucepot’s Aunt Narcissa, I think she’d be game.”

* * *

When Hermione rolled over, the sun shining through her window, the bed was empty. Now, the bed was usually empty, and so this did not immediately register as a tragedy for the young monarch. But as she snuggled into the comfort and the softness and the pillow Viktor had used in the night the memory that he  _ had  _ been there began to trickle into her conscious mind.

At first it seemed like a dream. It would be the first pleasant dream in more than a year, the first dream totally unsoured by fear. She dreamed she woke in the night. She dreamed she had to get up and have a wee, which was very realistic as dreams went. And when she came back, Viktor was in her bed and there was food under a warming charm next to her Concordia and that was not realistic, as dreams went. It was, in fact, thoroughly dream-like.

She inhaled deeply, and it was as if she could smell Viktor.

“Viktor?” she called out sleepily and looked around. But the room was empty. There was no food on her bedside table, just the Concordia and the latest and steamiest letter from Viktor last Saturday.

Yep. Definitely a dream.

Hermione snuggled deeper into the pillow on the other side of her bed, the one that made her think of Viktor and the beautiful dream and snoozed a bit longer until there was a knock on her door.

“Come in,” she sleepily called, her voice weak. She could turn over and look at the door, but that would require… effort. 

“Hey,” Harry called softly. He came in and sat on her bed. She could hear him kick off his shoes and then felt the bed shift and he lay down beside her on top of the down blankets. “How are you feeling?”

“Hmm,” Hermione responded in a happy tone.

“Good. Did you sleep okay?”

“Mmm, I dreamed Viktor was here,” she said candidly, her soft words slurring in a way she didn’t mind at all.

“That wasn’t just a dream, sleepyhead.”

“Mmm?” she said in a distinctly disgruntled tone.

“We called him last night. Stuff went down. No one died, though Saucepot wants me to assure you that had I cut Grims up into bite sized chunks he would have been happy to eat her for you over the course of a few months.”

Hermione giggled and snorted and curled into her blankets.

“But Minerva gave him permission to stay with you, Viktor, I mean, discreetly, until you’re feeling better.”

“Mmm. No incentive to feel better then. I expect to feel poorly until Christmas break.”

Harry chuckled behind her. “You could probably draw it out for a week.”

Hermione stretched and yawned and felt a bit more awake, and then considered their conversation. She cleared her throat. “Wait, wait. You’ve buried the lead. Viktor spent the night and I have no memory of it? Well, almost no memory?”

“Yup. He had a croissant and some coffee with us before we went out for our run and he left to go back to Ely.”

Hermione had just been sitting up, but at this news she flopped back into her pillow that justifiably smelled like her intended. “I can’t believe I finally got to sleep the night in his arms and I missed the whole thing,” she groused.

“Did you have any nightmares?” Harry asked gently.

Hermione thought about that. “No. No, I didn’t.”

“Then he did what he came to do,” Harry pointed out. “Come on, if you get up and have a quick bath now we can walk down to breakfast together. Neville and Ginny are quite worried about you, though talking with Viktor this morning helped a bit.”

Hermione smiled a small rather sad smile and nodded. “And what about you? You’re not worried?”

Harry shook his head, now sitting up with her. He reached out and held her hand. “I know you’re tougher than Grims. She’s gone, by the way. Out of the Pendragon elves, and demoted within the ranks of the Hogwarts ones. Mory is your acting head elf, until you make a decision otherwise.” Harry briefly explained about elderly elf.

“It’s Tuesday, so I’ve got a break right after breakfast. I’ll call him and discuss things.” She turned to her brother and leaned in to kiss his cheek. “Thank you, Harry. I love you so much. And I… just… thank you.”

He grinned. “You’re welcome. Come on. Get up. I’m sure you’ll see your Prince Charming again this evening.”

Hermione threw off the covers and hopped out of the other side of bed, only to feel slightly dizzy and have to sit back down immediately. “Oof. Right. Slowly. Gently. Okay. World, stop spinning, please.”

“Tampy, Pampy,” Harry called.

They arrived, though not quite as quickly as when Hermione called them. 

“Tampy, Hermione needs a croissant and a single cup of tea. Pampy, will you draw her a lukewarm bath please?” Harry went to the other side of the bed and helped Hermione up, and she noticed for the first time that he still had his running kit on. “Come on, you’ll feel better once your brush your teeth. You always do.” He had his arm around her waist and was heavily supporting her.

“I’ll be okay,” she said softly. “I’m just a little dizzy.”

He left her at the door to her powder room. “I’ll be okay,” she said again. “Go take your own bath, Harry. I’ll meet you in the sitting room in twenty minutes.”

Hermione could hear him talking quietly with Pampy, but not what he actually said. She was momentarily curious, but then let it go.

Twenty minutes later she did feel more herself and was in her study, gathering the texts and supplies for the day and putting them in her purse. Crookshanks was lying on the hearth and she bent down to give him a scritch behind his ears and under his chin.

There were hugs all around when she walked into the sitting room, and the four friends walked down to breakfast arm in arm, Harry and Ginny in front, Neville and Hermione just behind. When they got to their usual end of the Gryffindor table, Luna, Tommy, and Negash were sitting alone, quietly talking. When the four approached, Luna quietly got up from the table and hugged Hermione while her arm was still linked with Neville, even. Very quickly Tommy and Negash ran around the end and joined the group hug very easily, which made Hermione think about how stressful life might be dealt with in Hufflepuff House.

“Would participating in a group hug in the Great Hall violate our propriety agreement with Hogwarts?” Ginny asked her husband.

“Probably.”

Ginny sighed and sat down instead.

“Thanks, everyone. Come on. Let’s have some breakfast,” Hermione said. Once she was able to sit - Luna had moved down two places so she could sit where she usually did - she loaded her plate with a rather unusual amount of sausage, bacon, eggs, toast, and fried potatoes. And then proceeded to eat it all.

It tasted  _ amazing. _

When the owl post arrived, her copy of the Prophet was joined by a letter from Viktor, which she opened immediately, but not before she noticed that the Malfoy owl had dropped off letters for Luna, Harry, and Ginny, which probably meant that Narcissa also had sent one to her through her box.

* * *

_ November 2, 199_  
_ _ The Cross Hotel, Ely _

_ To the most beautiful and stubborn woman I’ve ever met in my life, _

_ I love you. I hated to wake you this morning. You clearly needed your rest, my dearest Myon. _

_ They told me all of what happened. I told them nothing of what we had discussed concerning the elf in question. I made a few decisions which you probably already know about, but I have left room for you to gracefully make different ones, if you so choose. _

_ You should know that they were all extremely upset, each in their own way. Narcissa perhaps most obviously so. Ginny tells me she stayed a long time talking with them, and then took Saucepot home with her for the evening, but that she was better by the time she left. _

_ I hope that you are better for having slept soundly, for I know that you did. Oh, Myon. To hold you in my arms through the night was wonderful. To do it under such circumstances… Myon, I did not like that at all. _

_ I will come to you again tonight, after dinner, and for nothing more than to perhaps read quietly with you, and then sleep, wrapping my body around yours and reminding you of your safety. _

_ All my love, forever,  
_ _ Viktor _

_ PS - You are more stubborn even then Mama. This I had not imagined possible, but I see the truth, now. Thank you for being so strong. Do not forget that there are those who would share the burden with you, my darling. _

* * *

When Hermione had folded up her letter from Viktor, smiling slightly, Luna spoke to her.

“Your Majesty, you should read this. I’m not sure how to respond, and I’d like you to set some clear boundaries for me,” the blonde said.

Neville passed the letter down to Hermione as Tommy and Negash quizzed Luna on why she’d called Hermione that.

“Because it’s the proper way to address her. We’re her friends, and she doesn’t mind informality from us, but this is about something quite important and official, and so it’s proper that I address her with her title, partly as a way to warn her in which capacity I need her advice - not as Hermione my friend, but as one of the advisors to the Queen Regent.”

“And the other part?” asked Negash.

“Because it’s fun,” Luna said. “Some people used to think that witches like Hermione who have muggle parents were less good, less strong, less proper, and didn’t really belong in the magical world. And now she is the queen of all of them. Its called an ironic reversal, and it’s quite popular in stories to point out that our basic bias against people is always wrong.”

Luna kept speaking, but Hermione was busy reading the letter in question.

* * *

_ November 2, 199_  
_ _ Malfoy Manor _

_ Miss Lovegood, _

_ My mother will tell me nothing about what happened yesterday except that you are the dearest, finest, and kindest creature she’s ever met, and that if I don’t marry you I will have lost something beautiful and precious and I shall never find its like again in this wide world. _

_ But I note she’s also talking to a snake like a person, and a snake she didn’t have before, and referring to herself as Auntie Narcissa. I only know one person who did that and he didn’t have a nose.  _

_ Where did the snake come from? What can you tell me about what happened yesterday? What did you do that has so elevated you in my mother’s rather singular perception? Has this all been too much for Mother? Should I be taking measures? _

_ Sincerely,  
_ _ D Malfoy _

_ PS - if it’s just about the tapenade, I’ll give you the name of my supplier. _

* * *

She folded the letter and handed it back.

“You can tell him in a general way what happened. It’s not a state secret. No need to get too fine into the details, however. I think it’s more important that he knows how to offer his mother support. And since he’s worried about Tom, which no one should ever have to do again, please… well, no. I don’t have to tell you that. You will.”

“Yes, I will,” Luna said with a smile.

“What happened yesterday, Hermione?” Tommy asked, very concerned.

Hermione took a deep breath and sighed, holding her teacup between both hands. “Yesterday I travelled to Wales, spun around in circles all day until I vomited, multiple times, really, forgot to eat, and then crawled to bed, exhausted.”

Tommy’s face scrunched up as he thought about that. “So you went to an amusement park?”

Hermione nodded. “Sure. Let’s go with that.”

Negash narrowed his eyes, clearly not quite buying it. When they all got up to leave after breakfast, the perceptive first year grabbed his backpack and rushed around the table, settling it on his shoulders. He slipped his hand into Hermione’s and started the long walk across the Great Hall with her. When they were a little away from the rest of their group, he whispered up to her, “Hermione, are you sure you’re okay?”

She stopped walking and bent over a little so she was closer to his eye-level. She held his gaze and smiled. “I really am, Negash. A good night's sleep and a hearty breakfast was just what I needed. You don’t have to worry about me.” And then she leaned in and kissed his forehead.

“You didn’t go to an amusement park, did you?” he asked quietly.

She stood up straight again. “Nope. I sure didn’t.”

Negash sighed. “Tommy’s an idiot, sometimes.”

“I understand,” Hermione said, not holding his hand, but still walking side-by-side. “When I was your age, both my closest friends were idiots for most of the time. Tommy will probably grow out of it. Faster, with you as his friend.”

“He’s a good lad, with his heart in the right place,” Negash said philosophically, sounding fifty-five rather than eleven.

“In that case, he’ll definitely grow out of it,” Hermione assured him.

They parted ways at the door and Hermione went back up to her suite to have a conversation with her new head elf.

* * *

_ November 2, 199_  
_ _ Malfoy Manor _

_ Dear Hermione, _

_ I hope today finds you entirely recovered, and that you do not think your advisors have acted too presumptuously while you slept last night.  _

_ Please join Draco and I for an informal dinner this Saturday. We’ll serve drinks at six, with dinner at seven. The floo address is ‘Malfoy Manor’, and shall be open for you. _

_ Looking forward to your response,  
_ _ Narcissa _

_ PS - I’m taking the opportunity of this dinner to introduce Luna to Draco. She is such a dear creature, I feel she would be a good influence on him, and I fear he may have sadly overlooked her in his Hogwarts years. To be entirely honest, I would like her as a daughter-in-law. I’ll also be inviting the Potters as well as Mr. Krum so that there will not be too much pressure on Draco and Viktor to play nice without distraction. _

* * *

_ November 2, 199_  
_ _ Hogwarts Castle _

_ Dear Narcissa, _

_ I’ll admit that I had to drag myself through my classes and it will be another early night and late morning for me, though blissfully I’ve eaten my weight in food and I have kept it all down. I’m sure tomorrow will dawn bright for me. _

_ Viktor has explained what happened after I went to bed and while at first it seemed a bit drastic, I did see sense eventually. I hope you realize that I did get what I wanted, it was worth it, I wouldn’t have wanted anyone to call a halt, and I wouldn’t have wanted anyone to take my place, either - Elizabeth is quite clear on not hiding behind others unnecessarily, and I agree with her completely. Thank you for being so kind to me during the telling of the lore; I appreciate your care of me. _

_ I look forward to dining with you and Draco and the guest list sounds lovely, but then it would to me. I see you have found out about Draco’s new jersey. I’d apologize, but he did insist on it being a signed jersey, and Viktor will not be managed. _

_ I’m glad to hear you like Luna. She’s one of my favorite people and not many in the world have seen her true worth. Do be careful with her, though. Her level of insight might alarm a legilimens, and I’m not sure occlumency is any deterrent for her. Happily, she seems to only use her power for good. Just… I suppose I’m trying to say don’t imagine your secrets are secret to her, and know she won’t judge you for them. _

_ Alright. I’ve rambled. Apparently I’m also rambly when dehydrated. _

_ I will go rehydrate. _

_ Hydrating,  
_ _ Hermione _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ::ahem::
> 
> It is my pleasure to announce that I will be publishing my first novel, Loki of Midgard: How to be lost and found in a week; a love story, by Sare Liz Anuszkiewicz, in the Amazon kindle store on Easter Sunday, in Eight Days From Now.
> 
> Originally an Avengers fanfiction, it answers the challenge, 'What if Loki joined the Avengers before Thor?'
> 
> Now entirely original fiction, and the first of a trilogy of novels, it is smart, steamy, satisfying, and it is _the_ feel good read of your quarantine.
> 
> You like my Viktor? _You should see what I can do with Loki._


	24. Chapter 21: Wherein Hermione recovers.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You’d think she’d be able to enjoy so much nighttime snuggling with Viktor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yesterday was one of the rare days in the last few months when I didn't write at all. ...This feels totally weird to me now. I think this must mean I've finally hit my groove.

Hermione returned from dinner slightly exhausted, but not quite as bad as she might have been. She had already changed clothes after her last class four hours ago and was wearing a pair of jeans and Viktor’s jersey with her trainers. She entered past the portrait of an old woman feeding seagulls and dithered in the sitting room. If she went directly to her bedroom, she’d probably just fall into bed and not wake until morning and so totally miss Viktor. Again. She had already seen to her correspondence in the afternoon, not wanting to put it off until the evening when surely she would not do it. Strictly speaking there was nothing she  _ had  _ to do. She was caught up in her reading and was still a bit ahead. But she did have so many things she  _ wanted  _ to do.

But maybe not today.

_ Take care of yourself. Elizabeth would tell you to take care of yourself. _

Right. Bath it was. But first she would drop her things off in the study and pack her bag up for the morning.

She was focused. Exhausted, but focused. Get in, switch things out, take a bath. Maybe not even read. Just a nice hot bath and manage not to fall asleep in it.

Hermione crouched down at her bookshelf and pulled books out of her bag to reshelve them, and pulled books off the shelves to place in her bag, then retrieved the essays for tomorrow and emplaced them, and then put her purse on her desk, right in front of Viktor’s picture.

And then she looked up to see Viktor sitting beyond the Round Table at the fire, watching her, and silently smiling over a cup of tea.

“Oh,” she said, blinking. “Hi.” After a moment she added, “I’m glad you’re here.” She steadied herself with one hand on the back of her chair. “I might be a little out of it,” she explained.

An eyebrow rose and she watched in a bit of a daze as he put his book down, and his tea down, and came over to her.

He went to embrace her, but instead of turning around to face him, she just leaned into him, sideways. “I want a bath. Nice and hot. Harry wouldn’t let me have a hot bath this morning, because I was dizzy. He’s becoming sensible. Harry Potter is becoming sensible. What is this world coming to, Viktor? If all my friends are sensible, will they need me? I’m supposed to be the sensible one. If I can’t be the sensible one, they won’t want to be friends with me anymore.”

Viktor took her by the hands and walked backwards, leading her into her bedroom.

“Ooo, are we going to have sexy times? That would be awesome. But just so you know, I might fall asleep on top of you. No offence, though. I know it’s only quarter to eight, but it feels like this day is never going to end.”

He kicked the door shut once they were through and led her to sit on the edge of the bed. He went off, still not speaking, to start filling the tub. Which sounded strange. It was a different pitch. Now, why would that be? 

Viktor whipped his sweatshirt off that proclaimed something in a Cyrillic language and tossed it over on the chaise lounge.

“Ooo, pretty,” Hermione said, smiling and looking at his chest. He was so beautiful! She giggled. When he stripped off his tracksuit bottoms and tossed them in the same place to reveal that he now was actually quite naked, Hermione cheered.

He was grinning wryly as he approached her and gently, so gently he took the hem of her jersey and pulled it off her, laying it next to her on the bed. Then her bra. Then her trainers one by one. Then her socks. Then her jeans. Then her thong. Then her wand sheathe, with the wand on the bedside table, next to his. All in a pile, and then he moved it to her chaise lounge, finally speaking.

“Take your jewelry off, Myon.”

“Riiight,” she said, pulling off her earrings and her bracelet and watch. She walked over to her dressing table and just piled them in the middle. And then the time turner. And then because she was really off her game, she took off the locket and the signet rings, which she normally kept on. But the rock would stay.

She grinned, looking at her engagement ring. She could signal satellites with this thing. The thought also made her giggle.

And then an arm was around her shoulders, guiding her and she really wasn’t properly appreciating Viktor, his presence, or his nakedness. They rounded the corner to see behind the dressing screen to discover that she had been given a much bigger tub. He turned it off without a single wave of his wand.

No wonder Viktor was naked!

_ Naked, naked, naked!  _

And now it was a little song in her head, to the tune of three blind mice, but the only words to the song were ‘naked, naked, naked.’

He helped her to step in and then immediately stepped in behind her. He sat down and then helped her to sit without falling. She was too busy hissing at the water and groaning in relief.

“How was your day, Myon?” he asked quietly just behind her ear, shifting her hair and guiding her head to lean back on his shoulder. His arms were wrapped around her, his hands resting gently on her stomach.

“Peachy,” she sighed. “You’re naked,” she also said.

He chuckled behind her. “Yes. I am. So are you.”

“Yup!” she said, popping her lips loudly at the end of the word.

“Do you need to get clean, or is this for relaxation only, my sweet and dazed love?”

“Who are you calling dazed?” Hermione asked, playfully indignant.

“You. Answer the question.”

“What question?” Had he asked a question?

He sighed. “Do you need to get clean, or is this bath only for relaxation?”

“Relaxation!” And then she sighed. With her head leaned back she stated boldly. “I should tell you about Cormac. I’ve been thinking about it all day. Should have done it sooner. Tell Viktor about Cormac. That’s what I thought. Don’t forget to tell Viktor about Cormac, or he’ll be mad.”

“And what is a Cormac, Myon?”

“Cormac was supposed to be the British version of  _ you _ but that was the worst relationship decision I ever made. First, your not replaceable. B, he was a giant flaming arse. One date. Had to have a date to the slug’s party. Ron was being a prat. So I went with Cormac. Biiiiig mistake. Ugh. Yuck. Spent the night hiding behind Harry. He stole a kiss - I did  _ not  _ give it. He was too handsy. And too slobbery. Assumed too much. And he was stupid. Very stupid. I could feel it radiate off him, but I thought that was just the quidditch. And I think he’s gone professional, not that I care two figs. But he’s an arse, Viktor,  _ an arse. _ Crap Keeper, first rate arse. And if you meet him, he’ll probably still be an arse, but to you. Because he’s like that. Still has no idea how much I detest him. Still thinks he’s the shit. But those are the only two boys I’ve kissed. Cormac the arse and Ron the git. Terrible track record. Terrible judgment. Why do you like me again?”

“Because you are wonderful, Hermione Jean. And I more than like you. I adore you. Now tell me Cormac’s last name.”

“McClaggan,” she spat. And then she spat. 

“Cormac Bloody McClaggan, and he was stupid and rude and assumed that because you and I dated, I was fast and lose and ready to go shag in corner. As if!  _ As if!  _

“Now, you, if I had had the good fortune to take  _ you  _ to that stupid, insipid, dreadful, wretched party in sixth year, if  _ you  _ had given me one of your intense stares, with or without poetry or strong language skills, when I was seventeen rather than fifteen and knew what masturbation was, where my clit was, and why you took my breath away everytime you stared at me and smiled, all the while making Ron insanely jealous though whether he wanted to date you or me was never  _ very _ clear, then,  _ then! I would have dragged you to a dark corner and swallowed your cock whole! Climbed you like a tree! Begged you to pound me into the wall! To hell with blood magic! I would have had the most wonderful boyfriend in the world and you can bet I’d be fucking him six ways to Sunday in every empty classroom! I’m a liberated woman, dammit! And just because I’d fuck my boyfriend every chance I got, didn’t mean I’d fuck anyone who presumed I’d be an easy lay! Arsehole! Total arsehole! Sixth year was really bloody stressful! I could have used a good rogering every other day! _

_ “Are you laughing at me? Viktor Cyril Krum, are you laughing at me?” _

“Maybe a little,” he admitted. “But I like hearing what you would have done. And we can still do those things, Myon. Cormac Bloody McClaggan is not here. I am,” he said, gently holding her breasts in his hands and kneading them. “I am intelligent, polite, assume very little that you haven’t made explicit, I am a decent keeper, actually, but naturally a better seeker. You mentioned that I  _ have _ a first rate arse, which I find flattering. I have proven, I think, my superior kissing skills, though I am always improving. And I am, perhaps, just right with my hands, am I not?”

Hermione groaned in happiness, but moved one of his hands down past her belly and then sighed.

“But maybe not fucking in every empty classroom? Now that you have a private bedroom and I have occasional access to it? Certainly after Christmas break when we return, you can expect to fuck me every chance you get. I will happily comply. I would be honored if you would suck my cock. I like it when you climb me like a tree. I will definitely fuck you against a wall, but gently, Myon. I won’t pound you against stone. That would hurt. That tapestry in your study has merit, however. Really, any flat surface, Myon. Sex on any flat surface is fine.”

Hermione giggled and moaned. “And you want me to tie you up,” she said in a sing-song voice.

“Maybe,” he admitted with a grin she could hear in his voice. “Occasionally. To tame the fire in my veins and make me come harder than ever in my life. Just for special occasions. When I win the World Cup, for instance. Or play a particularly good game. Or when we mix the roses. Whatever.”

“Talk to me, talk to me,” she breathed. “Make me come,” she sighed, her hand on her other breast. “Harder…”

“You know,” he said conversationally, “I notice there is something missing in your list. If I had taken you to that party you did not like, me instead of the rude boy, if I had looked deep into your eyes and laid out all my longing for you, if I had begged you with no words at all for just a moment of greater intimacy, you know, perhaps I would have expected a lingering kiss in some dark corner, down some infrequently used hallway. Perhaps I would have hoped to have my lips trail down your neck, to have you press your body against mine. That would have been a revelation, just that. And maybe you already know about gentleman’s charm. And maybe you ask me to release it. And the first rush is always difficult to bear, but suddenly I will be so hard, and you will notice. But if, by the time of this formerly dreadful party that would perhaps not be so bad if we are constantly exchanging looks that promise each other many, many orgasms in the not-too-distant future, if by this time we have already made it to the point that you are sinking to your knees and sucking me down your throat, why would you not imagine I do not return the favor as often as I possibly can? Myon, I love your pussy. I love eating you out. I am surprised you are not already aware of this, as I do it daily. But no, let us not limit ourselves to only once a day. Myon, I end up eating you out almost every time I see you. It would be everytime, but sometimes we are in public.

“But if we are in a dark alcove in a hallway of your school, it will not be you sinking to your knees, Myon. First, that would be uncomfortable for you. Second, should we be caught, I would rather it be you receiving pleasure, not me, because some people are still quite stupid about these things and believe women are only good for giving pleasure, and unworthy of receiving it. Very stupid. So if we are caught, at least we make a point.

“And so I will sink to my knees and slowly raise the hem of your dress, my hands on your beautiful, warm, soft thighs. And one of those thighs I will lift gently and place over my shoulder, and if I wasn’t already, that alone would make me so hard. And your hands are in my hair, clutching and scratching and now holding me fast against your beautiful flower. And if there is no blood magic ritual for which we are saving things, then my tongue would have much more to do than it does now. My fingers also would need to go exploring deep inside of you to find that place that could make you scream, if only you weren’t in a hallway trying to have a quick and beautiful moment with me before I return to my apartment, alone.”

She squirmed in his hands. Oh, this was so good.

“And if I can make you come and still we have not been found, then perhaps you sink to your knees in exhaustion, but so quickly you recover. And you unbutton my trousers as I am sitting back on my heels, and pull me out. I am so hard. Hard and aching, but if we have been doing this for sometime, perhaps I have greater stamina. You climb on top of me as I sit there, pull that beautiful scrap of lace aside and sink down on me. I gasp as I hold onto your naked bottom, letting your dress fall over my hands. You are so beautiful, I tell you softly. So lovely. So tight. So hot. So wet. So delicious. So succulent. You are a rare feast of the senses, I whisper. I can’t wait to marry you. I want you to know you can expect this, this and more, whenever you want it. 

“You are sighing and gasping and rocking on me, and Myon you feel so tight around me, so beautiful and hot and slick, but I don’t focus on that. I can’t. If I think about it too much I’ll come far too soon and leave you wanting, so I focus on making it good for you, so good. You like it when I go deep, so I start thrusting up, pulling you to me in harder, sharper movements. You like it gentle at first, but then you like it hard, so hard, so I give it to you hard, but the position has limitations. If we had a soft bed at our disposal I would turn you around and ram into you from behind, so hard, and you would scream my name. But you will not be on your hands and knees on this dirty stone floor. So this will do for now.”

Hermione was whimpering and so, so close to coming.

“Come for me, Myon,” he whispered, his fingertip swirling around the head of her clit, his other hand squeezing her breast slightly and her nipple a great deal harder. “I love it when you come for me. It makes me feel powerful. It makes me want you so much more, every time it happens. It binds my heart more closely to yours, and my soul. My cock is aching right now, Myon, aching for you to come.”

Panting for breath and making the most ridiculously airy sounds, she did, whispering his name.

He shuddered behind her, breathing a single,  _ “Fuck…”  _ and drawing the word out for so long as he came.

And then she fell asleep in his arms and did not wake until morning.

* * *

_ November 3, 199_  
_ _ Hogwarts Castle _

_ Dear Elizabeth, _

_ Forgive me if this is a shorter letter this evening. I’ve been a little under the weather, and while I can pull it together during the day I’ve been calling it an early evening lately, much to the detriment of the things I’d like to get done. _

_ Actually I can’t think of a single thing to say, except to whitter on about Viktor like a schoolgirl in love. Which I suppose, in the strictest of senses, I am. And he really is wonderful, and he’s been wonderfully helpful while I’ve been feeling poorly. But I’ll leave it at that. _

_ Still don’t want to learn Chinese,  
_ _ Hermione _

* * *

She was curled up on the couch with Viktor, reading a book on Centaur lore that had some extremely dubious chapters that she wanted to figure out how to discuss with Firenze in a manner that was significantly less offensive than the book. But in the last few minutes or so it had been harder to concentrate.

Ginny was taking notes at the Round Table and Harry was stretched out on the long couch with a pillow behind his head, Saucepot snoozing on his stomach, reading a text on Library charms.

Viktor put the mark in his book and set it aside. His slight jostling of her made Hermione realize that she had fallen asleep. She took a deep breath and didn’t protest when he took her book and put it on the table next to his.

“Goodnight, Harry,” Viktor said. “Goodnight, Ginny.”

They chorused their good wishes and Hermione joined in, her voice coming out so sleepy that it surprised her a bit.

Hermione looked up at him as she took his arm. “You know, it’s still quite early. It’s not half-nine, yet.”

“You were falling asleep, Myon. Better to do that in bed.”

“I think I could probably run tomorrow,” she pointed out as they walked to the door of her bedroom.

“No.”

His answer was flat and uncompromising.

They walked through the door and he closed it behind them. 

“Well, will you at least wake me up before you leave in the morning?”

“No.”

“Will you take a bath with me again?”

“No.”

“Viktor,” she said, glaring at him. “Is there anything you will say yes to?”

He looked at her without ire, and with one eyebrow raised. “Once you are tucked up in bed, if you can stay awake long enough for me to use the powder room and brush my teeth, I will make your body sing. But I suspect you won’t, Myon, because your body desperately needs the sleep.”

“I will!” she said defiantly.

She didn’t.

* * *

_ November 4, 199_  
_ _ Buckingham Palace _

_ Dear Hermione, _

_ I hope you are feeling better today, though I understand that one good night’s sleep often falls short of what is needed. _

_ I do understand, my dear, what it is like to be newly in love with a man who is everything to you. Viktor sounds like a particular catch, and in every way your partner. I wish you every joy. _

_ Write when you are well, and I will look forward to reading your animated and informative tales of Avalon then. _

_ Rest well,  
_ _ Elizabeth _

* * *

Hermione was feeling much more the thing by Thursday and so spent every free moment, including meals catching up on some of her reading and all of her essays she had been so far assigned. There would still be some on Friday, inevitably, but not many. And as of dinner, she was done with the work that  _ had  _ to be done for her classes. Admittedly there were so many other things she also wanted to do.

But Viktor was one of them.

Before she left for dinner she took the bud vase that held her single Concordia and fetched a single Empassionata out of the sealed case they were kept in, put it in the bud vase and went to write Viktor a note. She left both the note and the two roses on the tea table in front of the fireplace in her study.

* * *

_ I’m feeling better. I’m finished with all my work for the day. We could read into the small hours of the night, or I could tie you to my bed. _

_ Your choice. _

* * *

She left her brother and friends in the sitting room of the suite’s common area. “I’m going to call it an early night.”

“I would if I were you,” Ginny agreed without any sort of judgment that still left Neville blushing.

Hermione took her time turner off and handed it to Ginny. “Harry knows how to use it. And you’re long overdue. It’s not an emergency, so no more than five hours. Leave it on the table out here for me. Have fun, kids.”

Ginny shrieked and tackled Hermione in a hug, then handed it to Harry. Hermione watched as they looped the chain over their heads, turned the mechanism several times and then disappeared.

“Whoa,” Neville said.

Hermione went to the table and picked up her time turner that they had left for her and looped it back around her head and tucked it underneath her jumper.

“Night, Neville,” she said.

He shook his head and murmured distractedly, “Night,” as he went into his own bedroom.

It was possible he didn’t want to play, so to be on the safe side, Hermione went into her study first. It was empty and quite tellingly, the roses and the note were all gone from the table. There was no other sign that Viktor might be around, except for the fact that for the past several days he’d always been here when she came back from dinner.

Her heart was pounding in her chest when she approached her bedroom door. She really shouldn’t be nervous, but would it be weird if he was sexy from the get go and she said, ‘wait, hold on, I have to brush my teeth’?

Well, maybe she didn’t need to brush her teeth  _ so  _ immediately after dinner.

She opened her bedroom door expecting perhaps to see him reading on her chaise lounge, or drinking some of the decaffeinated tea he preferred in the evenings. She did  _ not  _ immediately see him when she came in, and sighed in defeat. And then she turned her head and saw him on the bed.

It was turned down.

He was naked.

Spread-eagle.

Hard.

_ Tied down. _

_ And there was a red rose on his chest. _

Hermione blinked and exhaled heavily.

His eyes were closed and he was breathing deeply. His cock twitched, but that was the only sign of acknowledgement.

Hermione closed the door behind her and set down her purse. She kicked off her trainers and took her jeans off as well, but kept on her jumper so she wouldn’t get cold. She went over to one side of the bed - he was in the dead center - and leaned against it, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Now, what on earth did I do to deserve this treat?” she asked, looking at his face, the way his long dark lashes contrasted against his skin when his eyes were closed.

“You asked,” Viktor said quietly.

Hermione grinned. She picked up the rose and brought it to her face, breathing in deeply and feeling a correspondingly deep pull at the base of her spine. Then she brought it to his lips and gently rubbed the petals back and forth, allowing him to take several natural, deep breaths. Out of the corner of her eye she saw his cock twitch.

“How often have you been masturbating since Monday night, Viktor?”

“Once a day,” he said and her eyebrow rose. According to historical data, he masturbated at minimum four times a day. So, he needed this, then.

“When?”

“Right before I come to see you in the evening.”

“And did you this evening, my handsome man?” she asked, trailing the rose across his cheek, down his chin and down his neck.

“Yes.”

“And yet I see you’re aching for more,” she said, trailing the rose down his chest. It was something she’d wanted to do since she saw that photo shoot.

“Yes.”

She trailed the rose up his cock and down the other side, hearing him hiss. “Tell me what you want, Viktor. You’ve taken such good care of me. Tell me what I can do for you tonight.”

“Tease me. Talk to me. Make me come over and over. Ride me. Sit on my face.”

Hermione grinned, and brushed the rose past his balls and over his hips. “I’m getting wet just thinking about it.”

She moved the rose around his body as she spoke, softly brushing the petals across his skin.

“Ever since I saw the magazine I’ve wanted to do this, touch your body with a rose, let it kiss you softly, gently. It’s hard not to touch, though. I’m not sure who’s getting teased more, here. God, Viktor. You’re so beautiful. I didn’t know real men in real life could be so overwhelmingly beautiful. I love the way you smell. It’s not the soap, and I know you don’t wear cologne, it’s just you. You have a scent, and I like it. Normally it just makes me feel safe and loved, but in moments like this it makes me want to try my hand at sucking your balls into my mouth one by one. Which is on our taboo list, so I won’t. But know that I’m thinking about it. And I’m looking forward to trying it.”

Hermione watched as he writhed at hearing that, and decided that it was time to share a fantasy. Or perhaps make one up on the spot. What to say, what to say, what to say…

“If I take my jumper off, will you cast a warming charm for me, or can’t you, with your hands literally tied to my bed?”

And here his eyes opened and the blatant need was radiating off him as he stared at her.

“I will.”

Suddenly feeling dry, she licked her lips and stared back at him, wide-eyed. She pulled her jumper off and threw it somewhere behind her, and took off the t-shirt she was also wearing, giving it the same treatment.

She shivered, feeling his magic wash over her.

“You know,” she whispered, “when you do that now, I don’t just feel the warmth. I feel you. I feel your magic. It started the night of our first fight. I was, I don’t know, meditating on it when we sat on the lawn,” she said, still holding his gaze as he panted in lust for her. “I felt the strength and power of you caring for me, even though you were angry. And I feel it now, even though you are distracted by lust. I can feel you on my skin, Viktor. Your magic. It’s all over me,” she whispered. “It’s so easy to feel now, so obvious, so strong. It’s so intimate, it’s like sex, except I’m inside of you. Hmm, I wonder. Would you like that? Would it be sexy or strange?”

“What?” he gasped, his hips thrusting up into nothingness.

“After we’re married. If we took polyjuice potion. And I fucked you into the mattress. Would you like sucking your own cock, I wonder? Would you like having my breasts? My pussy? Hmm, I wonder if  _ I  _ would like eating my pussy as much as you do. I don’t know about that. But it would still be you. And you’d get to feel what it’s like to have your clit licked. So there’s that.”

Hermione watched as his back arched and he came, spurting semen across his abdomen. He was panting loudly, but not saying anything.

“I wonder, if you were in my body, with all of my hormones and possibly my reactions, would you understand how unutterably sexy you are? Would I be able to surf on the tidal wave of your near-constant lust? Ooh, would I have any stamina at all? Would I end up just looking at my own boobs and then lose my load? Oh, Viktor. We’re going to have to test this out. Good thing I can brew polyjuice in my sleep. And good thing the castle in Wales has a potions lab upstairs.”

He collapsed back on the bed, gasping, muscles twitching. Without so much as a twitch of his hand, he wandlessly and wordlessly evanescoed himself.  _ Damn. _

“One,” Hermione said, counting his orgasms.

She traced the line of his muscles lazily with the rose.

“Do you wonder what it will actually be like for me to suck your cock?” she asked.

“Yes,” he whispered.

“No, not just as in a fantasy, but the mechanics of it? Like, well, I’m not sure, really. I’ve heard some women like it and some don’t, and I think it must be partly down to the mechanics of it.”

“Yes,” he whispered in the same brief way.

“I’ve been reading some trashy romances, and while fun and frivolous, they really don’t go into things like sore jaws and strange flavors, unlike friends willing to overshare. And they certainly don’t talk about the possibility of-” and here she ran the rose along his flaccid cock, “-sucking life back into a limp cock when you can still easily fit the entire thing in your mouth.”

Viktor hissed, his eyes still closed, and Hermione smiled to watch the muscles in his arms flex.

“And certainly that particular maneuver is far, far away from a penetrative orgasm, and so I wonder that we’ve never tried it. And if I stopped just as you were really getting quite hard, that would be a hell of a tease don’t you think?”

Viktor whimpered.

“Perhaps that’s why we’ve never done it,” she said, smiling.

His breathing was audible.

“Of course you have a game tomorrow. I think that means you shouldn’t be tied to my bed for  _ too  _ long. Oh, wow. My pussy just  _ throbs  _ when I think of you tied to my bed. Goodness, this has never really come up before. Right. Focus, Hermione.”

Shifting gears she started licking his chest, starting with his flat little nipples. He hissed and groaned and when she thought of his cock again, she looked down to see that he was already hard.

She made a mue of disappointment. “Well, you’re hard now. Maybe next time you’ll get to be in my mouth.”

Viktor whimpered and shuddered.

“Don’t be sad, my beautiful man,” she whispered against his skin. “Your hard cock and I, we’re very good friends. I dream of our wedding night,” she said in between kisses to the muscles on his arms. “A lot going on that day, to be sure, but then eventually it will just be you and me, and once all the blood magic is finished we can do whatever we want to do. Sometimes I wonder what we’ll do first. Will you eat me out? Will I suck your hard cock for the first time, just to see what it is like? Will we be tired, or energized, I wonder? Will it be just a kind of soft and lazy thing where we’re laying on our sides with you inside of me, barely moving? Will I be on my hands and knees with you pounding into me from behind? Will we just have sex one more time and then fall asleep, exhausted from our day? Or will we barely sleep for the ongoing exploration of each other’s bodies that will seem so fresh and new, with all the limitations removed?”

His breathing was audible again, and Hermione wondered how close he was to a second orgasm.

“You’re thinking about it again, aren’t you?” she asked.

He silently nodded. She took it to mean yes, though if he was distracted enough, it might mean no.

“I wonder. How long would you last if I rode you right now? Your cock rubbing along the length of my pussy. I’d get you all wet, I think. Sloppy.”

Viktor was shaking.

“Mmm, I should take this thong off, first,” she said, hopping up from the bed. “Hmm, what should I do with it? It’s a little wet. I’m so wet I’m almost dripping, Viktor. Let’s see… I could put it with the rest of my clothes… or…” she draped it on his shoulder, and then put the rose on top of it, where he could smell both. “Yes, that seems a convenient spot.”

Viktor, with eyes still closed, had turned his head and was taking very deep breaths.

“Close your legs,” she softly ordered, and he did so immediately.

Hermione climbed over him and pushed his cock down against his belly, clamping it between their bodies as she settled over him with a moan of her own.

“Ooo, Viktor. Are you sure you don’t want to open your eyes and see this? Oh, but you might come instantly. Nevermind, keep them shut for now. Fuck. You are so thick. Aah… hah. Somehow you seem thicker here, like this, with my pussy lips kissing you, than in my hands. Hmm, talk about a slobbery kiss. You don’t mind, I hope? Because I think I might be making a mess all over you, and you were so clean, too.

“Oh, I love the texture of the head of your cock and how it feels on the head of my clit. Oh, if we did this long enough I could totally come.

“Good grief, why am I still wearing a bra? No, that has to go. Oh, hello there. What beautiful eyes you have.” Hermione palmed her own breasts and cocked her head at him as she rolled her hips over his. She kept his gaze and couldn’t help the smirk as she rocked back and forth.

The intensity of his dark eyes reached inside of her and did  _ something,  _ though she wasn’t sure what it was. She shivered on top of him and the smirk dissolved into a smile.

“I love you,” she said, still looking into his beautiful, dark eyes.

He came with a gasp.

She was just at the place in the midst of her rocking on top of him that guaranteed a bit of a mess for them both, but that would be quickly dealt with, when he was finished.

When he was, she curled up next to him. “Too tired for a warming charm?” she asked, and was immediately warm again. With the warmth came the wave of Viktor’s magic and everytime he did it she could feel it more and more clearly. This time it made her shiver.

And then Viktor cast it again, apparently. She was now entirely toasty warm, and she gasped, but not because of the warmth. It was his  _ magic. _

“Every time you do that I can feel you, your magic, all around me, caressing me. I think it’s turning my entire aura into some sort of erogenous zone. Enough of this and you’ll be able to make me come from across the room,” she whispered. When she looked up at him, he was smirking.

Hermione narrowed her eyes and shifted around him. She picked up his flaccid cock after wriggling between his legs and kissed the tip. It was clean again. She licked it, then sucked it between pursed lips, just playing about and seeing if she could elicit a response.

She did.

_ “Fuck,”  _ Viktor said on a choked breath.

She released him, then sucked him in again, but farther this time. He was so large when he was aroused, but so small when he wasn’t, and it was easy to have him entirely in her mouth with her nose against the skin of his lowest abs.

Hermione frankly wasn’t sure about the whole cock-in-throat thing, but the cock-in-mouth situation was so far just fine.

Of course, he would get bigger. In just a moment, if his reaction was anything to go by.

_ “Fuck,”  _ Viktor whined.

She was intensely curious how this felt for him - other than the obvious - but she couldn’t ask questions at the moment. Her mouth was otherwise occupied. But she stored them up for later, when she would quiz him intensely.

In and out, in and out, and she could feel him getting bigger, but she was still quite safe. He wouldn’t come until he was fully hard, which he wasn’t yet.

Oh, but he was getting there.

Every time she sucked him in, and now she couldn’t quite get all of him comfortably in her mouth, but she was supplementing with two fingers ringed about his base, he chanted four or five ‘fuck’s in a row, and when she pulled back off, making sure there was some resistence to it, he panted.

But he was getting hard much quicker now, and on what she decided would be her final trip down on him she swirled her tongue, which apparently he liked a great deal, though she would ask for details later, and then when she came back up she pulled off him entirely, and kept pumping him with her hand, instead.

His head rose from the pillow the moment her lips were gone from him and his stare was intense.

“Don’t stop,” he begged her.

She lowered her face back to his cock, staring at him, still.

“Yes,  _ yes, yes, Oh God, Myon, don’t stop, don’t stop.” _

She kissed the tip of his cock, still looking into his eyes, and licked the tip, still pumping his entire length with her hand.

_ “Please, please, Myon.” _

She raised an eyebrow. She opened her lips slightly. Her bottom lip rested just underneath his tip.

_ “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.” _

His back arched and Hermione watched as all his muscles in his body were tightly corded. She shifted her head a bit and kept pumping him strongly, but gently cupped his ballsack with the other hand.

“You want to come in my mouth,” she quietly taunted, still pumping him firmly as he began to orgasm, his whole body arching off the bed.

_ “Fuck, Myon, fuck, Myon, fuck, Myon, fuck, Myon,  _ **_fuck, Myon!”_ ** he said, the last coming out as some hybrid of a growl and a shout. Not exactly a scream, but then, it wasn’t exactly a complete blowjob. It was a sound, however, that went straight to her core and tap danced on her clit. An involuntary shiver wracked her body and when he finished she held him gently, her hands still and she watched as he went from dirty to clean again.

She crawled back up his body and pulled her wand and undid the knots, pulling the rope off of him.

“Oh, Viktor,” she said, looking at the red, raw rope burns on his wrists. “Let me go get something for this.”

She went for her purse and the rather extensive first-aid kit she kept there. She fetched out the heal-all all purpose cream for minor burns, cuts, scrapes, gouges, sore muscles, aches, sprains, and tears. She dabbed it on his wrists, first, and then put a rather more liberal amount on her hands and massaged it into his chest muscles, and then into his shoulders and upper arms. All the while he silently watched her, his dark eyes following her movements. He shifted and moved as she requested.

She wanted to berate him for using  _ actual rope  _ instead of something soft and possibly padded, but somehow she felt now was not exactly the time for that. Instead she gently told him to roll over. She massaged more of the cream into his shoulders and arms from behind, and then his back, all the way down to his knees. When she was done, after she put the cream back in her purse and washed her hands and took off the jewelry she did not habitually sleep in she returned to find him sound asleep. She covered him with the sheet and down blankets and finished up her nightly routine before joining him. He was still in the exact center of the bed, and it wasn’t so large that he could stay there, sprawled.

In the end she had to bodily roll him and halfway through the process he took over. She snuggled into him and when presented with her back, he promptly curled around her, with one arm around her waist.

“Goodnight, Viktor,” she whispered.

A sleepy moan was her reply.

* * *

_ November 6, 199_  
_ _ Hogwarts Castle _

_ Dearest Viktor, _

_ Today Ely was at Leicester (roughly in the center of the country), and I hope your game was not in any way impeded by the restraint you displayed the night previous, or the fact that I woke you at four in the morning for round four. (And if I wasn’t perfectly and absolutely clear at the time, your scruffy morning facial hair feels amazing on my skin.) _

_ You might imagine that I wouldn’t remember much of the events of Tuesday night’s bath, and though it makes me blush to think of how much I yelled about previous boys I’ve dated/kissed (Let us not call them boyfriends. They were not.) I do remember a great deal. I remember I fell asleep on you. I remember some of the beautiful things you said to me, then. I remember your insistence that I understand how much you like eating me out. _

_ That sticks in the mind most particularly. _

_ Shall we have a bit more of that tonight? Assuming all goes well and easily during dinner with the Malfoys? Let’s do just meet there, but after we all leave for the night, I hope you’ll come back and stay the night with me again. It’s true, I am feeling better, but Harry pointed out that I could probably draw this out for a week, so I’m claiming it, and I will officially be quite poorly by the end of the day until Monday, at least. If I could draw it out until Christmas break, I would. I suppose this means I won’t be going running until Tuesday or Wednesday morning, but this I will happily forego if it means sleeping the night curled up next to you. _

_ And of course, if all doesn’t go well at the Malfoys, I’ll be particularly grateful for your presence in other ways. But I don’t want to assume the worst. I’m sure it will be fine. Tom and Bellatrix are dead, after all, and it’s clear that Narcissa and Draco were horrified by what happened. _

_ The more I think on that, the more I take Elizabeth’s point of view: we were child soldiers. (The idea is repellent to her, and so it should be.) Dumbledore was grooming us as child soldiers, or possibly in his head, more charitably, knights (score on that one, we all will be). And I wonder if that’s maybe what horrified Narcissa the most. Watching her own son be drafted before his time, watching her sister torture children. I mean, war is war, and if you’re going to engage in it, you’re going to suspend a lot of your everyday morality to do so, but I wonder if that was a line Narcissa couldn’t cross. Tom could have gone a lot farther if he’d respected people’s lines and had better spin. Also if he’d retained his nose. _

_ Whoo. Hello darkness, my old friend.  _

_ Okay, not the usual level of sexy in a Saturday love letter, but that’s where I am. Feel free to go back and reread the bit where I’m fantasizing about you eating me out, and I know that I’m so grateful you’ve spent this time with me. Thank you. I love you. _

_ All my love,  
_ _ Hermione _

* * *

_ November 6, 199_  
_ _ The Cross Hotel, Ely _

_ My darling Myon, _

_ It does not have to be about sex all the time. Truly, it doesn’t. To hold you and sleep will always be enough when the time is not right for orgasms, for our connection is deeper than sex. And the ache in my body to be near you is only partly that of sexual desire. It is also to be closer to your heart, to renew and strengthen this connection that we have. To hold you as you lean against me while we both read feeds it. To have you wrapped around my back as we sleep feeds it. To converse with you on any subject at all feeds it. Writing and receiving letters from you feeds it. (Would I voluntarily give up the prospect of sex with you for no good reason? Certainly not. But there is more to life than sex.) _

_ So saying, I do not imagine there will be much space tonight for orgasms, my love. I do not mean to take a pessimistic turn. I am only trying to be realistic about my expectations. We will be in the ocean depths tonight, my darling. There may be an effort to toss a few rubber ducks on the surface, but it will be obvious that there are sharks swimming below. No one, I think, will mistake this moment for a wading pool. _

_ And yes, I will meet you there. Don’t be late, sweet one. Which is to say, don’t start reading if you are ready early. And after, yes. I will return to my hotel to change, and then join you immediately. _

_ As to Narcissa’s motives, who knows? It is sufficient for me that she decided for reasons of her own and in a time of her choosing to cut all connections with such a madman. What that more people had such resolve, and the cunning to do it in such a way that would have the greatest impact, the most lasting impression. No madman would conquer any people, if all the ranks were filled with women of such strength and conviction as Narcissa Black Malfoy. May her life be long and her endeavors be fruitful for the good of her family and the world. _

_ Speaking of which, and I realize this bears further conversation, but in my mind I do consider Narcissa, and by extension Draco, family to you, and so to me. This first dinner may be difficult, but I think ones after it, less so. And as we had both my parents and your brother and his wife to dinner, I think we should also begin to include the Malfoys to such things, and when we regain them, your parents. There is no reason for any of us to feel isolated and alone, not when we have so many connections with such good people. _

_ And no, I do not particularly like the spoiled, hateful, bigoted ferret child. But if he has grown as you suggest, I’m sure we will get along in time. And you have mentioned that Luna is fond of him. I trust her insight; there is something lovable about him, even if I do not clearly see it. I reminisce about the fact that you once punched him in the face (you violent thing, you), and wish I might have been there to see it. _

_ And finally, the Ely Inferi at the Lion’s Den of the Leicester Lions. They showed us great hospitality, allowing us to get as many goals as we wished, which was kind of them, though they seemed somewhat strained for the effort. I admit that I drew it out. I might have ended their terribly bad day earlier, but I refrained, and instead engaged in my normal head-fuckery with their seeker. They never learn, Myon. But of course, if they should, I would change my methods to suit. It is easy to stay two steps ahead of them when they have no idea that they are on a clearly defined path. Well, it is clear to me.  _

_ So it goes. I will, I think, go for a swim at Ramsgate (no, I have not lost my mind, dear Myon. The cold water is invigorating. I would suggest you try it, but I know you will not.) and then practice the cello, which I have been neglecting of late. Then some reading, and then I will get ready for dinner, I think. _

_ I love you, and I will see you soon. _

_ Love,  
_ _ Viktor _


	25. Chapter 22: Wherein Saucepot throws a hissyfit.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Naturally, other things also occur. But let’s not bury the lead. And if you’re familiar with 2Cello’s ‘Benedictus’, and ‘Fragile’, it will be obvious when you should cue them up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good morning friends! Our story is tripping right along! Thanks for all your love and support. You guys are awesome.

“Right. So, how did it go?” Neville asked, looking up from a book on estate management and elf labor.

Ginny breezed through the sitting room, leaving the door to Hermione’s study open. “Remarkably not horrible. But then I wasn’t in that house at any point during the war. Back in a tick,” she said, going into her bedroom and shutting the door.

Neville blinked. And then he called Mory.

“Yes, sir?” Mory asked, appearing in front of him in the sitting room.

“Mory, I think we’re going to need cocoa for six in Hermione’s study, plus emergency chocolate, plus anything else you think might be good for someone who has had to relive a trauma.”

Mory’s eyes got round. He nodded once, sharply and disappeared without a word. 

Neville sighed and closed his book. He put it on the table and took a deep breath before walking into Hermione’s study, which Harry hadn’t yet left.

Harry was standing next to the fire wearing Saucepot like a scarf, and he was the only one in the room.

“The girls are all changing,” he said listlessly. “Viktor should be coming through soon.”

“You want to change too?” Neville asked. Harry was still wearing his suit and the tie was still tight.

“I wish I could,” he said softly.

“I meant your clothes,” Neville replied gently.

Harry shook his head minutely. “If I go into my bedroom, I won’t come out until Monday. I think Hermione needs to talk, too.” After a moment, he spoke again. “You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to. It could get ugly. You shouldn’t have to stay for that.”

“Piss off,” Neville said gently.

Harry cracked a smile. “Fine. Be a masochist. See if I care.”

The fire flared green and Viktor stepped through dressed in sweatpants and an old jersey. Neville nodded at him and Viktor nodded in return, but the moment he saw Harry, it was like he really saw him.

“Come here,” he said, opening his arms and pulling the younger, shorter man into a strong embrace, snake and all. It took Harry ten seconds to start sobbing. 

Neville ducked out and back into his bedroom to get a stack of clean handkerchiefs and came back into the room just before Ginny did. Neville watched as she surveyed the situation, took the top on his stack and went and scratched on Hermione’s door, entering and closing it behind her.

Well, shit.

Neville was insanely glad Viktor was here because he seemed to know what to do. The extent of Neville’s knowledge was to bring hankies and chocolate, and to refuse to go away when they start getting polite, which was rather how his Gran tended to handle things, really.

He put the handkerchiefs down on the corner of the coffee table and unfolded the next one in the pile and stuffed it into one of Harry’s hands that was roughly around Viktor’s waist.

The next ten minutes were delicate and awkward, and Neville constantly doubted himself. When three trays laden with all manner of chocolate arrived on the coffee table before the fire and gave him something to do, he was hugely relieved.

He made up a plate of bonbons, dark chocolates, and a chocolate covered strawberry and went to knock on Hermione’s door.

“Hey,” he called out gently. “I come bearing chocolate.”

The door opened and Luna stood before him. “You’re a wise man, Neville Longbottom. Is Viktor here yet?”

Neville leaned slightly to allow her to see the scene that hadn’t changed since Harry started crying.

Luna nodded. “Right. Let’s switch.”

Neville walked in, but left the door open about half way. Hermione and Ginny were sitting cross-legged on Hermione’s bed and the former was gesticulating wildly, crying, and whispering harsh words he couldn’t quite hear. Her cat was on her lap, and each time her gesturing bothered him, she seemed to pause, apologize, and then keep going.

He approached quietly, and when he got to the bed, Hermione paused.

“Sorry,” she said, before blowing her nose and wiping her eyes.

He handed over the chocolate and waited until each woman had taken one and started eating. “There’s a lot more out there, and Viktor’s here. Why don’t we all go out there, and then we can all have a good cry about what Tom and Bellatrix have done to ruin our lives?” he asked, his smile tighter than he would have imagined.

Even though he’d never known his parents as well, happy, and sane, at least he still had them. He could still get the occasional hug, on a good day. It was a hell of a lot more than Harry or Hermione could get, and when he thought of it that way, Viktor’s actions made even more sense.

Hermione tried to argue that her life wasn’t actually ruined, but as she did it through tears it wasn’t as convincing as it might have been.

It didn’t take much to coax her out and all seemed to be going well, until Harry saw her. He tore himself away from Viktor and threw himself at Hermione, holding onto her and sobbing.

“I’m so sorry,” he cried out over and over. “It’s all my fault she did that to you, you should have just given me up.” Neville felt some tears welling up, but didn’t worry about them much.

“Don’t be an idiot,” Hermione said, crying almost as hard as Harry. “She would have killed you immediately, dumbass. If she’d been any smarter, we would have been done for. Draco certainly knew it was you and Narcissa probably knew just using simple logic. Happily, she was quite stupid as well as quite insane, and so we all lived to tell the tale,” Hermione said, still crying.

Oddly this was the moment Neville realized that Hermione and Viktor were wearing matching jerseys, except his was the real thing, and much more worn in. He shook his head and went to help Luna pour out hot cocoa for everyone and put the cups and saucers around the edge of the table. Once that was done, he made everyone a plate, just in case.

“This is definitely a moment for chocolate cake, I think,” Luna said quietly, and began slicing and putting a piece on top of each pile of chocolates. It wasn’t the way he would have done it, but whatever.

“How did your evening go?” Neville quietly asked.

“Oh, perfectly fine, from a certain perspective. I like to think my shameless flirting threw a tablecloth and a lampshade over the pink elephant in the room. Might have caught Draco by surprise, a bit.”

“Is that what that was?” Harry asked, hiccoughing. 

“Like you noticed,” Hermione muttered, almost but not quite finished crying.

“Hey,” Harry defended himself, pulling back a bit and blowing his nose with one hand into the handkerchief. “I totally know what flirting is, now. Ginny sat me down and explained it.”

Hermione laughed, and it started out just a little bit, but then she laughed so hard she had to sit down. Viktor joined her immediately and put one arm around her shoulders and that seemed to be the signal for everyone to take a seat.

Neville sat in his standard chair, closest to the door, but Hermione’s chair had been replaced by a short sofa that seated two, and the other short sofa had been replaced by a longer one at point earlier in the week.

“Ooh, cake,” Hermione said and reached for a plate and forgoing the fork just started delicately eating with her fingers.

Neville popped a bonbon in his mouth. When he was finished with it, the room was still silent, so he spoke.

“You know, the thing about dark witches and wizards is they play mind games. They make you take responsibility for their own misdeeds. I mean, example. Hermione protects Harry and gets hurt, and Harry feels bad, but that’s only half the story. The other half is why he needed protection. Voldemort - sorry, Tom - was going to feed him to that bloody great snake. No offence, Saucepot. Hermione got hurt because Bellatrix Bloody Lestrange hurt her, like she hurt really, a lot of other people. Narcissa doesn’t feel guilty because Harry needed protecting, she feels guilty because she didn’t do more to stop her bloody sister in her own bloody house. I mean, it’s obvious in hindsight that they made some major lies of omission, and that was certainly a signal to anyone who was watching closely at the time, which apparently no one was except the two of them, which if you think about it might have been when they really switched sides, if not before.

“But anyway, my point, wait, what was my point?”

“The mind games of dark wizards and witches,” Luna supplied.

“Right, thanks. My point is that as dreadful as you feel, Harry, it’s not your fault. Like you remind us, every terrible thing in our lives really boils down to Tom being a homicidal maniac. It’s not your fault he and his dumb-dumbs in masks targetted any one of us, or our families. It’s not our fault we’re mostly orphans. It’s not our fault we got hurt. It’s not our fault friends died. It’s not our fault we survived. It’s not our fault. We just have to live with it, that’s all.”

“And that’s a lot,” Harry said sombrely.

Neville nodded. “And if you gave your life for someone else, would you want them to live and love and be as happy as they possibly could, or would you want them to carry the burden of your willing sacrifice and watch it crush them until their life ended?”

Harry snorted. His lips twitched in a momentary smile. “No. I’d want them to be happy. What’s the point, otherwise?”

“Then you’ve got to practice giving others the benefit of the doubt, and allow them to be at least as noble in heart as you are. Because even if there were other motivations for them, other things vying for attention in their hearts, they were also at least as noble as you.” 

“Well put,” Luna said. “We each have the capacity for great darkness and for great good. The pain and sorrow that is left behind after we hurt one another can feed the darkness, if we let it fester. We’ve got to air it out and when we’re ready, let it go, so that the great goodness inside of us has elbow room to work. Only the darkness would call healing and love and light and joy bad. But then, it does have a vested interest in keeping us down.”

“Luna, you’re brilliant,” Hermione stated plainly, after sniffling.

The blonde smiled. “So are you Hermione. And you, Harry. More than you know. But that’s alright. I’ll hold the knowledge for you, until you’re ready to take it.”

“It is remarkably reasonable,” Harry said, also sniffling. “I mean, what you said about the darkness being the only thing that could think healing and joy and stuff was bad. But it just gets into my head. And it just seems so reasonable. You know, until I say it out loud, and then it sounds totally barmy.”

“Then you must say it out loud,” Viktor added quietly. “Anyone here would be willing to listen, to remind you of what goodness says, and what darkness says, and the difference between the two when you forget.”

A chorus of yeses across the room reassured Harry that this was true.

More chocolate was consumed in the quiet. Much more. When Hermione was on her third cup of cocoa, she asked Luna about the flirting.

“Was it just for our benefit?”

The blonde’s smile was saucy. “Not entirely. We both know Narcissa approves of me. Now I’m just working on winning over Draco.”

“What did you do?” Neville asked. And then thought again and added, “Or do I really not want to know?”

Harry laughed. “No, it’s a good story. Tell him, Luna. We could all use a laugh.”

“Well,” Luna said, drawing out the word, then sighing. “Get your refills of chocolate. This may take a while.”

And then she told the story. Of how they had all first entered into the main entrance hall, with the floo-connected fireplace and she could tell that Hermione and Harry were already uncomfortable, and that if possible, Narcissa and Draco were moreso. And once they all had drinks in a lovely mint-colored salon across the hallway from where Hermione was tortured, Luna had asked Draco to dance. The music was only in Luna’s head, so she led. And it might have been a nice time to have a bit of a private conversation with Draco, but not really in the end, because strangely Draco wasn’t used to being led in a waltz. Which was a shame, because Luna quite liked leading. “And then Viktor asked Hermione to dance, which was entirely the point. And then Harry asked Narcissa to dance and hot on the heels of that Saucepot asked Ginny to dance, and I think I saw Ginny teaching Saucepot to answer yes and no with gestures and having quite an animated conversation with him while they waltzed. Was I right about that?”

Ginny nodded, her mouth full of chocolate. Saucepot also nodded, from Harry’s shoulder.

“And then in the next song, I know only I could hear it, but a single song only lasts so long, Draco asked Hermione to dance, and I think he was quite relieved to lead, Viktor asked Narcissa to dance, I asked Ginny to dance, and Harry sat out with Saucepot, talking. Then in the final dance, yes I thought three was quite enough, because after that I needed some wine, I asked Narcissa to dance - she dances so well, it’s like she’s just floating on air, really - Draco asked Ginny to dance, Viktor asked Hermione to dance again, and Harry continued to talk with Saucepot.” Luna paused to take a sip of cocoa and a second piece of cake.

“Things were okay for about fifteen minutes until the dinner bell was rung. Narcissa led us into dinner and through the hallway, which is clearly a trigger for everyone. We entered into what couldn’t possibly be their formal dining room as it was far too small, but it was lovely nonetheless. Still, Draco sat at one end and Narcissa the other, with Harry and Ginny on one side and Me, Viktor, and Hermione on the other, which just goes to show it was informal.

“Now, let me see. Conversation was stilted, so I brought up roses, though I don’t know much about them, but as I had hoped, Viktor was willing to talk about them, and tell stories - oh, the legend of Saint Concordia is just so wonderful! Tragic! Heart-breaking! Inspiring! Beautiful! I love it! And then perhaps he used it as an excuse to pass around his rose and have everyone take a very deep breath of its calm - good job, Viktor.”

“Thank you for noticing,” he said, and fed Hermione another bonbon off his plate.

“And then Viktor turned the conversation to grapes, bless him, but Draco was clearly off his game and demurred. So I peppered him with questions about Bacchus and elfwine and did my best to smile meaningfully at him and he could barely eat his fish course, but he did answer eventually, at length, and told some very amusing folk tales traded among his non-magical employees, some of which have worked for the vineyard for generations. And I was right. His manager in Burgundy is a squib, and his manager in Champagne is a second-generation squib who is still able to use the floo and owl post, and inherited the job from her mother. And that was good until the ragout was served - lovely French stew, venison, I think - and then the conversation turned to what those of us who don’t already have a clear profession ahead of us are going to do after graduation. Draco had a rather even tone, I thought, when he asked Harry if he was going to become an auror, but that was a hard question to field, and I think his answer took everyone rather by surprise, and Harry wasn’t really in a place to want to offer many details.”

“Not really,” Harry agreed, sipping more cocoa.

“So then I started talking about the Great Library of Alexandria and how its said that if a library is big enough with enough books of enough variety, that you can actually walk between them, libraries I mean, and that the Great Library was the first one of its kind to have documented research field librarians who forded imaginary worlds and unpublished books and all of the most amazing novel ideas that had never been written down. I pointed out that it would be the best place for Harry to apprentice, if he wanted to become a Master Librarian--”

“Wait, what?” Neville spluttered. “I thought you were going to go for Auror Training Academy.”

“So I can be in a constant state of war with the world?” Harry asked, and his red rimmed eyes spoke volumes. “Have people keep trying to kill me? I changed my mind. ‘Sides. Hermione is going to need a librarian. And I like the idea of just being with the books. Books that don’t want to kill me. Books that might reveal interesting, non lethal surprises about the world.”

“Monster Book of Monsters,” Neville said darkly.

“Stroke the spine, Neville. Just stroke the spine,” Harry said with a grin.

“Then Narcissa took up the conversation and I could eat some of that delicious stew. It turns out she knows someone who knows the Head Librarian and she offered to write a letter of introduction, though of course he would still need Madam Pince’s letter of recommendation. Still, it doesn’t hurt to have an introduction, first.

“The creme brulee was divine, but of course by then conversation had waned again and I had to start shamelessly flirting with Draco again. I waxed poetic about France and then tried to get him to list out the other countries he’d been to, and when that failed, I started talking about each place I’d been in terms of how romantic it was. I don’t find Paris particularly romantic, but Munich definitely was. And so on. And then Ginny and Narcissa and I had a conversation about what makes a city romantic - is it the architecture? Is it the food? Is it your own personal experiences there? Is it how whimsical or not their magical quarter turns out to be? No one could call, for instance, Diagon Alley romantic, but what if you had an amazing date in London? Wouldn’t that make it romantic for you?

“And then Draco asked what an amazing date in London would entail. Naturally I said going to the British Museum to see if any wizarding artifacts had been mixed in with the non-magical collection, because that sort of treasure hunt is always fascinating to me and I haven’t done that in years, and then finding the best street food, and then going to the Victoria and Albert to see if you can trick any of the paintings into moving, when they’re alone in the room with you, and then nipping over to Kew Gardens to just bathe in the greenery in the glass house because the heat and the life and just the beautiful, and then finding the best rated Ethiopian restaurant we can and seeing who can eat without utensils in the neatest fashion, and then ending with a couples massage in a Turkish Hamam. I’ve never been, but I’d been totally inspired by Hermione’s Roman Bath. And I’ve decided that I need more massages in hot, steamy rooms than I’m used to, which is none, so that is a low bar, but still. Good to be clear about these things, even in one’s own mind.

“So then Narcissa suggested we retire to the orangery, which is also where the snakes live in those glass vivariums that Saucepot so despises, and I see why. The orangery was lovely, and there were more than just citrus growing in there. It was bright, warm, delightful, earthy, green. And then there was a row of angry snakes. Harry gravitated to them at first, but when Narcissa asked for his insight concerning them and drifted over, that’s when Saucepot got quite angry and bared his fangs at them. The snakes, I mean.”

Which Saucepot did again just then, and despite the fact that he was generally a kind and congenial snake and much smaller than Nagini, it was more than mildly terrifying for Neville. He wasn’t the only one who flinched, at least. Harry spoke to his snake and he slithered down off Harry’s shoulders and curled up partly in his lap, but also a bit on Ginny’s and a bit on Luna’s all of whom stroked him.

“Why don’t you take over, Harry? It seemed like you were being polite, which was certainly a good idea, but I’m sure we’re all interested to hear the rest of the story if you want to tell it.”

“Right,” he said, after blowing his nose. “So, long and short of it, because there’s no use in getting everyone all worked up again, the snakes were okay-ish with Lucius, almost tolerating of Draco, and intensely hate-filled toward Narcissa. And they were very vocal and very descriptive of their various desires to kill her. No particular reason that I could tell, much like the basilisk didn’t have a reason, just a desire. And of course Saucepot is quite fond of Narcissa--”

Here Saucepot nodded his head vigorously and said something only Harry could know. 

“--And rightly so because she is a beautiful and kind woman, yes, Saucepot, we all know you got to sleep with her that one time. So Saucepot was defending her honor and screaming at them that they all just needed to die horrible and painful deaths, and they were taunting him because of course all the snakes Lucius Malfoy kept were highly venomous and physically beautiful specimens. And you know, it’s hard to give a recommendation to someone you’re trying to play nice with that they turn all their pets into designer footwear, but that’s all I really had at the moment, and also trying to juggle a very angry snake which always is more difficult than a placid, sarcastic snake. And so, um, I just told her to never, ever handle those snakes, nor let them out unless she had a wand in one hand and a cleaver in the other. And then I turned my attention to calming Saucepot and told him stories about having Nagini roaming the house, which I’m sure she did and wherever she liked, and how Narcissa was a powerful witch who was totally capable of taking care of herself.”

Luna then took the thread of the story back. “And that was hard to recover from, conversationally speaking. Angry snakes and hissy fits being what they are. No offence, Saucepot. Your rage was entirely understandable. Narcissa is an absolutely lovely person and doesn’t deserve to live with such anger and hatred in her own home. I’m sure she thought she was well rid of that when Nagini and her noseless handler finally left. But I think after that it just put everyone in mind of the times of hatred and fear in the house, more so than any other point crossing hallways and such and it wasn’t until Viktor pled fatigue from a tiring game earlier in the day - was it tiring, Viktor?”

“No, not really. The Leicester Lions had a very bad day, and I am proud to have been a part of that.”

Here Hermione giggled and Neville laughed under his breath and shook his head.

“Well, that was our collective cue to thank our hostess and get going. Draco had been in a state of minor overwhelment throughout the evening, I think, possibly it was mostly the memories, and the fact that none of us have ever been easy friends with him, but also, I think, the rampant and obvious flirting. Still, he rallied nicely at the end. There was no privacy for anything more than a fleeting glance, but it was significant, I think. Time will tell. He’ll know clearly part of my motives, as they were obvious even to a first year Hufflepuff, but it’s not clear to me that he understands my intentions are honorable. Narcissa does, but he may or may not take her word for that. But their footwear will be something to watch in the next few months. One of those snakes would make an absolutely excellent pair of heels for Narcissa. None of them have the beautiful, subtle skin pattern of Saucepot, of course, but he’s not up for grabs in terms of being made into footwear. The rest would do for shoes for Draco, I think. One of them is big enough for boots, I should imagine. The karma is prohibitive in such an instance, of course, but I doubt that will stop them.”

At this Luna sighed, sat back, and at some chocolate.

“This has been a hell of a week,” Hermione mildly observed.

Ginny grunted in wordless agreement.

“I don’t know,” Harry said, his voice sounding somehow very far away. “I think some good has come of it already. And maybe more will. I hope Narcissa gets those snakes out of her house, no matter what else happens.”

Saucepot nodded vigorously.

They all sat quietly in the silence, and Neville felt like a storm had passed. After a long moment, Neville said quietly into the space, not wanting to disturb it in any way, “This would be a good time for music. Shame we don’t have a gramophone.”

“Mmm,” Ginny said, beginning a statement, which Harry ended.

“But we have a Viktor.”

Neville was confused. Did he sing? But wouldn’t all his songs be in a language they didn’t speak? He watched as Viktor looked down at Hermione. “Would you like me to play for you?” the Bulgarian quietly asked. 

“Yes, please,” she whispered, though it was easy enough to hear.

Neville watched as he kissed her on the forehead before he got up to leave and couldn’t help but think that if he just hung around Viktor and Hermione enough when he finally got a girlfriend, he’d know how to treat her.

There still wasn’t much conversation to be had and the room still had the feeling of being in a soft rain after a terrifying thunderstorm when Viktor came back through with an extremely large hard sided leather case clutched tightly to his chest. The soot fell off him, and Neville wondered if it was a permanent charm Viktor had cast on himself, a charm he cast each time before he went into the floo, or a wandless, wordless charm he cast afterwards, each time. Whatever it was, it was slick.

He silently unpacked the instrument on top of the round table and then did some sort of something to the bow, some sort of something to the bottom of the wooden bit. He brought a chair between where Hermione sat and the fireplace and then brought the instrument over. He tuned it quietly for a moment and even that sounded sort of beautiful.

And then he played, and Neville didn’t even realize he was at a loss for words. It was soft and beautiful, like a lullaby, but hopeful and cleansing. Even though it was so, so gentle, and sometimes the instrument was soft, sometimes it was gentle but somehow loud and filling the space between them with something so beautiful that Neville didn’t have words, and didn’t realize he was crying.

When the music stopped, Viktor quietly spoke. “It’s a duet. Better when Mama is playing, too, but still good, alone.”

“That was beautiful,” Harry said.

Viktor only nodded, and then looked to Hermione.

“I am entranced,” she said slowly, and Neville was glad to see a smile on her face. “Will you play us one more before we go to bed?”

“Yes,” he replied and then started playing another gentle one, though this one was perhaps more wistful. Neither of them were something like Bach or Mozart, Neville didn’t think, though he was no expert. And yet they were both so very beautiful it hurt. And somehow, maybe, it also healed.

Viktor was clearly very good at this.

* * *

November 7, 199_  
Hogwarts Castle

Dear Narcissa,

Thank you so much for having me for dinner last night. The food was delightful - please do compliment your elves for me. Your orangery is beautiful, and Luna reports that you dance like a dream. I’m quite envious of your grace and poise.

Viktor has informed me that he quite considers you and Draco part of my family, and therefore his. If you can stand the sort of casual family dinners I am likely to host, I would love you and Draco to join us when I get that sorted. In the meantime, would you both be available to join me in the families box this Saturday at ten in the morning for the national semifinals game? It’s Ely vs. Holyhead, at Inferi Hell. (Oh, these names, Narcissa. If anyone regularly had to deal with inferi, no one would think it would be fun to name a sports team after them. But I suppose there is Dunblane, and there we run out of justifications for any semblance of good taste and can only shrug.)

Looking forward to seeing you soon,  
Hermione

PS - the snakes. I feel I should say something more than Harry did, as he was trying to be polite and we got the whole story out of him later. Possibly I don’t need to. The cleaver reference may be all you needed to understand entirely. But I hate leaving these things to chance. Will it suffice to say that we all had a longish conversation about whether or not the karma was prohibitive to make venomous, hate-filled snakes that want to kill you in your sleep into rather fashionable shoes and boots? Luna comes down on too prohibitive, you may not be surprised to know. Also, apropos of snakes, Ginny has taught Saucepot how to answer yes and no questions with a gesture and he’s quite a conversational partner, now. Saucepot had been defending your honor in the orangery, by the way. He’s extremely fond of you. We all are.

PPS - Harry would go shopping with you for a new snake, if you ever decide you’d like that.

* * *

November 7, 199_  
Hogwarts Castle

Dear Draco,

We should probably just admit that we’re essentially siblings.

You were wonderfully candid with me when you asked me to put your mother out of her misery, and so I will be candid with you. It was hard. I still have nightmares of that time along with so many others of course, though thanks to Narcissa, the wound is closed and healing. (Did you know what the cure entailed? So much worse than the original torture, and yet worth it.) But I think it was worse for Harry. 

The weight of guilt that I was tortured in order to give him up and refrained from doing so was so heavy it was breaking him. But it was clear in hindsight that you knew it was Harry, and Narcissa likely did too, and obviously Ron did, though it amuses me darkly that Bellatrix chose me to torture instead of Ron. Weaker because I’m a girl? Hardly. Of the two of us, I’d bet on Ron breaking first. He had done in other respects, but I digress. My point is that in that room, it wasn’t just me being tortured for information. It was you. It was Narcissa. It was Ron. It was Harry himself. And none of us broke, Draco. 

I take pride in this, Draco, and I’m encouraging you to do the same.

And finally, after dinner, after we returned, we could finally all talk about it. And cry a lot. And rage a bit. And eat our weight in chocolate. And discuss Luna’s shameless flirting.

Tom was a thief of innocence, a breaker of dreams, a master manipulator, and he had no nose. This really was all his fault, Draco. Not ours. And not yours.

Your sister,  
Hermione

PS - please don’t make the snakes into footwear. Just cut them in half and quietly bury them in the back garden. Do you really need more karma?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love you. Yes, you. I thought you should know. No, I don't know you. But I'm not letting that stop me.


	26. Chapter 23: Wherein Viktor tries to outrun his demons.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pro-tip: running is a short-term coping mechanism, not a long-term panacea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well! With this chapter, we break 200,000 words! Hurrah! And thanks for hanging in there with me! You are all awesome and wonderful. ::hugs::

Waking up in Viktor’s arms was lovely. Being kissed first thing in the morning before she brushed her teeth would take a bit of getting used to. Being eaten out first thing in the morning, or at least directly after several lovely good morning kisses that were left progressively lower on her body, was something she would be very, very happy to get used to. Eventually. Because this was the last day he was staying over, and when he left this morning after coffee and croissants, he took his cello and his toothbrush with him.

Their kiss goodbye in front of her floo was long and lingering. 

Still holding onto him, she whispered, “I’ll see you at ten tonight?”

“No. You still need more sleep, especially if we add more hours to your day. Could you meet at nine?”

She had a meeting with Mory at nine, but she could move it up and she doubted the Head Elf would have a problem with that. “Nine,” she agreed, snuggling her face into his neck. It was hard, so hard to say goodbye and having things return to the way they were - daily contact, which was beautiful and lovely and maybe she should just be content. But not living together. Not that he was quite living in her quarters, but he was sleeping there, and so that felt like he mostly was living there. Still, she didn’t want to put it all on him and make him shoulder the burden of her angst in addition to what he was undoubtedly feeling. “I love you,” she said, instead. “Have a wonderful day, Viktor.”

He kissed her again, hard, his mouth slashing across hers, his tongue begging for affection. When he lifted his head and looked into her eyes, she could somehow see it all there. His desperation not to leave, and his resolution to do so.

“Soon,” she whispered, wanting to give him strength, he who had always been there for her, as much as she had let him be.

He closed his eyes and rested his forehead on hers. “Soon,” he whispered. 

She reached up and gave him a peck on the lips and then stepped out of his embrace. “Go,” she said on half a laugh. “Before I start crying and make you feel bad.”

He did, wordlessly and with only one backward, searing glance that promised his heart, always.

Then Hermione sniffled her way out to go running with her suitemates. It had been exactly a week since she last ran, which meant that it was rough. Ginny had mercy on her and went a little slower, which meant Harry and Neville were well ahead of them and lying on the grass in front of the main entrance waiting for them when they finally did finish.

Hermione and Ginny began their post-run stretches. They said nothing, but gave arched looks whenever one of the boys caught their eye.

“We totally stretched,” Harry said, part way through.

“Don’t you lie to me, Harry Potter,” said his wife.

“Alright, we considered briefly the idea of stretching and decided to lay down instead,” he amended.

“Terrible for your muscles. Lactic acid,” Hermione said, getting a particularly good hamstring stretch.

“And when did you become the expert on all things athletic?” Harry said from his position prone on the grass, though at least he was making an effort and doing a hamstring stretch from down there.

“Mum used to run marathons. And if you’re going to run that far all at once and on a regular basis without dropping down dead afterwards, you’ve got to take proper care of your body.”

“Did your Dad ever run with her?” Ginny asked, twisting her torso and hearing cracking sounds. 

“He trained for a half marathon once when I was little, and ran that with her, but afterwards he swore he would never do it again. He said if people needed to go that far without cars, they could use bicycles instead. And then he taught me how to ride one. Good fun, bicycles. Kind of miss riding them.”

“And yet,” Harry said, he and Neville finally getting up and doing some stretches while standing, “You can’t stand riding a broom.”

“Falling off a bike involves skinned knees. Falling off a broom involves broken necks. No, thank you.”

“Here, here,” Neville chimed in.

“Have you ever seen those bike messengers in London, though? They’re totally nuts. They’re certainly risking broken necks, weaving in and out of traffic like they do.”

“Fair point,” Hermione granted, nodding as they headed back inside to go get cleaned up. “But I make it a point not to ride like a crazy person, and so I feel I could largely avoid that. I wonder what the muggle areas outside and around the Pendragon preserve are like and if I might properly explore them on a bike.”

“Or you could get a mountain bike and go through the forest.”

“Only on a well-defined path. Otherwise I might hit a tree, and then Viktor would never let me live it down.” When Harry scoffed at that, Hermione agreed. “Oh, he wouldn’t make a big deal out of it. It would just casually come up in conversation every now and then so I could be entirely clear that he hadn’t forgotten and that he hadn’t run into any trees yet.”

Hermione, Harry, and Ginny laughed at that while Neville asked, “but why would he run into trees?”

* * *

Hermione sat down with her head elf in the second weekly meeting they’d had, which was a little less crazy than the first one, and significantly better than all the meetings Hermione had ever had with Grims, all of which she’d be happy to forget.

As Hermione listened to what she imagined the standard report was going to be from the variety of different sections of work - a little bizarre, as they were all still at Hogwarts and so no one was farming or composting or raising children - all of her previous questions were shoved aside for the one she knew she needed to ask first, when he was finished.

When he was, she did.

“Mory, you sound as if you very much enjoy the work of Head Elf,” Hermione said in preface.

The little old elf shrugged and tugged on an ear, hiding a grin. “It is good to keep things going, but it is exciting to have Mistress Pendragon here. It is exciting to think we will return, finally, and do those things we train for. That we will once again all four be in balance.”

“Mory, would you stay on as Head Elf after we return, and join in Chief Gelwyn’s ritual as I take my seat?”

The old elf rocked back on the little stool he had brought in for the meeting. He tugged on both ear tips and brought them together in front of his nose, clearly thinking something he didn’t want to say, if Hermione was understanding the body language of house elves correctly.

“Please feel free to say whatever you need to say,” she reassured him. “You’re safe with me.”

“Mory may be blunt?” he asked.

“Please do. I won’t be offended, and I won’t get angry,” she reassured him.

“Mory is old. Perhaps twenty, thirty years, and Mistress Pendragon will have to do the ritual again, when Mory dies.”

Hermione nodded. “That doesn’t bother me. I mean, of course I will mourn you and be sad. You’re a wonderful being and I’m honored to know you. But wouldn’t we have to redo the ritual when Gelwyn or Firenze die? And won’t you have to redo the ritual when I die?”

Mory nodded, tugging on his ears and this time holding them over his eyes.

“What is it?” Hermione asked kindly.

“If Mory does, then Mory must take a new mate. Mory must find a new mate. Court a new mate. Mory’s mate Mome has long ago died.”

Hermione exhaled. Well, that could be a deal breaker.

“I’m sorry. I certainly don’t want to force you into finding a new mate when you don’t wish to.”

Mory peeked over one of his ears. “Mory could. Mory might.”

Hermione blinked. There was something she was missing, here. “Alright. Is there something that’s keeping you from it?”

Mory peeked over both of his ears. “Would Mistress Pendragon give permission for Mory to court one of the Black elves?”

Hermione blinked. “I would by no means force them into anything, but you have permission to court them. But it will have to be their decision entirely, and I will support whatever they decide.”

“Mistress Pendragon is a very good witch,” Mory said, tugging on both ears, but no longer hiding behind them.

“Right. Okay. Keep me updated on your progress. Shall we move on to other questions?”

Her Head Elf nodded and Hermione glanced at the clock. They still had another half hour of time and so she went for it.

“Are there any secret doors, secret rooms, secret passages, or hidden creatures slumbering and waiting to eat enemies? Or any other hidden or secret thing that perhaps you know about but I wouldn’t have noticed yet?” she added at the last moment, considering that sometimes house elves were remarkably literal.

Mory thought about it for a moment, his hands dropping to his knees. “Yes, Mistress Pendragon. There are many things granddaughter has probably not said, and so things might not be clear to Mistress Pendragon. Many things still secret. Many secrets has The Curtain. Few, the New Palace. Some, the Enclosure. One, the Wall. No creatures, save ones we bring in.”

Hermione sighed in relief that there was not a Chimera in magical stasis resting in the heretofore unknown dungeon. “Right. We may not have time for them all now, in fact I’m sure we don’t, but I would like to know perhaps one new secret each time we meet. For today, can you tell me the general trend of the secrets, if there is one?”

Mory nodded silently and remained silent for a time, staring off into the fire. “The New Palace is different. The rest of the secrets are useful in war, in siege. Sometimes all Pendragons have known them. Sometimes only Mistress or Master Pendragon.”

Hermione nodded. Castles and manor houses all over Britain were riddled with secret passageways and priest holes, because you just never knew what the next monarch would outlaw. And it made her think of Hogwarts, really.

“Mory, can you tell me why Hogwarts has so many secret passageways and secret rooms?”

The Head Elf of Hogwarts looked very sad indeed. “For use in war, in siege,” he said, now looking down and shaking his head. Hermione watched as a single tear began a slow trek down his face. “Mistress Pendragon was not here last year,” he whispered. “Headmaster gave strict instructions. No elf to go near bad teachers, or respond, or aid in anyway, or inform. Not real teachers. No contract with the Board. No duty to serve. All elves to aid the children at all times, to listen for more than just names, but also words screamed. No. Stop. Help. Keep areas around secret passages clean, no dust to show footprints, no broken cobwebs. Supply Come and Go room with food, text books, bedding, clean clothes. And when siege comes, some to infirmary, some to great hall. Protect the children,” and here Mory broke down and wept.

Hermione scooted off her pillow across from Mory and around to his side. She gently put an arm around his tiny shoulders and leaned her head into his.

She wanted to justify. Apologize. Praise. Reassure. But somehow… there was nothing she could say, so she didn’t try. She just sat there with her arm around the weeping elf, crying silent tears of her own.

* * *

“Fuck,” Viktor sighed, but certainly not in pleasure. He couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t masturbate. Reading held no interest. Playing the cello only reminded him of her.

Saying goodbye this morning was almost more than he could do. He then proceeded to have a dreadful day at practice, he had to have a rather embarrassing heart-to-heart with the Seeker Coach and briefly explain why he was a mess at which point he was patronized with all good intention while it felt like he was slowly dying inside.

He’d come back to his hotel - certainly not his home, his home was wherever Hermione was - and had written his parents each a letter. They would understand. They always did. He’d had a late dinner and tried to read during it, but it was no good. The books Hermione had not recommended or provided were boring and the books she had made his heart ache. He bought the newspapers instead, and that turned out to be even worse.

Being with her for two brief hours this evening made him breathless with relief and joy, but it was over so quickly. And then he had to leave, again. Tearing himself away from her felt like cutting himself off from all that was meaningful in the world.

Viktor tried to calm his breathing. He had to stop thinking about it. He couldn’t afford to fall into a depression now, not now. He had to stay focused, stay driven. It wouldn’t be like it was after Fleur’s wedding. It wouldn’t be like all of last year sending letters to her school, her home, all returned undelivered, his terror for her safety mounting, his shame at not offering help when it could still be received overwhelming him day after day until once more his father intervened and brought him back to sanity. 

It wouldn’t be like it was when he had waited so long for a reply to his letter this summer, the first letter where he’d turned the tone toward one of a potential courtship and she had responded with silence. That dreaded space of months when as he knew now, she was deciding between him and that other idiot she had recently kissed. Which was her prerogative, of course. And she hadn’t responded until she’d decided in his favor. She had integrity, this is a good thing, Viktor counseled his bruised heart. Except perhaps that she had dreamed of him and she had kissed another. That was not integrity, a small dark voice replied.

And there had been another, in addition to the other. Another. Two boys she had kissed. 

He wanted to kill them both. 

That urge he was very aware of, though he disapproved of the notion entirely and tried to squash it down. Just beneath the surface of his awareness, however, a very small, very dark part of him he didn’t like to admit to at all wanted to punish her for not loving him so completely, so faithfully as he had loved her. It wasn’t a rational notion, and it wasn’t going anywhere, either. And even while it made him irrationally angry, it also made him feel deeply and confusingly ashamed, which very soon would lead into a spiral of rage and depression, if he didn’t do something differently, now.

He shook the thought away and got up, got dressed. He put on his running shoes and muttered to himself.

“I am the only man she loves. I am her North Star. I alone have courted her properly. I alone have secured her hand. What happened before cannot count. The others did not even seek to court her properly. They were children being stupid and selfish. She was a child and did not know what she wanted.”

He buckled on his wand sheath and kept muttering to himself. “She is grown up, now. She is a good woman, and she has made her decision. She will not betray me. By the end of the year I will be her husband and I will love her so completely she will never wish for more. I am the only man she loves. I am her North Star.

“I am the only man she loves. I am her North Star.

“I am the only man she loves. I am her North Star.

“I am the only man she loves. I am her North Star.”

Mantra chosen, he continued with his preparations.

He slipped the wand in his sleeve and threw on a dark red hooded sweatshirt and kept the hood up. He nodded to the night porter who held the door open to him before he sprinted out into the night, trying to run faster than his demons.

* * *

Hermione woke up screaming, and alone. 

She panted in fright into the darkness, not remembering the dream even now, only the terror of it. Wandlessly she accio’d her pajamas and pulled the top on while still in bed, and then hopped out to put the bottoms on. She fetched the stack of Viktor’s letters, her wand, and the concordia rose, vase and all and came back to bed, sitting up against the headboard with a pillow behind her back. She cast the charm for two bluebell lights and secured them inside the ornamental jars she had Tampy affix to the bedposts at just the right height for reading.

She tried to regulate her breathing. All her movements thus far had been jerky and rushed. She’d almost dropped her wand. Almost knocked over her rose. She put the letters, and then her wand in her lap and held the rose in front of her and took deep breaths.

And then the sobbing started.

Hermione didn’t even know why she was crying, but as she clutched to her chest the thick stack of letters tied with a ribbon that had seen quite a lot of use, she was not as comforted as she sometimes was, and had no idea why.

* * *

Hermione held onto Viktor tightly as soon as he came out of the floo. She couldn’t even summon words. She had gotten two hours of sleep the night before, dragged herself through her classes, fell asleep twice while studying only to wake with nightmares, and felt dead on her feet. And beyond that, the prospect of having to say goodbye to him again tonight just when she needed him the most was a misery for her.

It was on the tip of her tongue to beg him to come back with her.

But no. It wasn’t right to tread on the goodwill of the Headmistress like that, not when she had been granted so much leeway. And the Pendragon Suite, despite the fact that it was sort of hers, it wasn’t like it was an apartment for her to entertain in whichever manner she chose.

Or maybe she should ask Minerva to become a non-resident student. As much as she would dearly miss living at Hogwarts and being in such close contact with the people she loved there… If there was a stark choice, she had to choose Viktor. And after graduation she would invite Harry and Ginny to come and stay for long stretches, and she would see Neville every day, and she would make time to spend with Luna, and it would all work. 

Yes. She would do it. It was the only way. It was the only way. And if she was shortly going to be moving out, then perhaps one more night wouldn’t hurt after all.

“Come back to Hogwarts with me? Please? Please, Viktor?” she breathed, barely audible and not even realizing she had been crying. Well, at least she wasn’t sobbing.

“Yes,” was his tight, pained response.

Still, they stood and held each other. 

Eventually Hermione drew away and drank her fill of Viktor. He looked every bit as miserable as she did.

“Did you sleep last night?” she asked, her voice weak from the pain between them.

“No,” was his terse response.

Hermione nodded. “I have a plan. Come with me. I’ll give us more time. We can discuss it.”

“I hate this so much, Hermione,” he breathed. “From the depths of my being, I hate being away from you like this.”

“Then come back with me,” she said, tugging him closer to the fireplace, and then letting go of him to reach for a pinch of floo powder.

The time she waited on the other side for him to appear was agonizing and she wondered if for some reason the access had been blocked, though why it would when others came and went with her was beyond reason. When he finally stepped through, she had to squash down the desire to burst into tears of relief.

He cleaned them both without a word. And when he reached for her, she put a hand to his chest and if his expression was anything to go by, it severely pissed him off.

“Tampy?”

The elf in the tie-dyed pillowslip appeared, quickly took in the situation, and crossed her arms over her chest. She had a mutinous look on her face.

“I promise we’re fine. We’re going to go talk about everything we need to talk about for as long as we need to talk about it in just a moment. But would you just tell the Headmistress I’ve returned for the night?”

Tampy gave her a narrowed glance, but disappeared.

“I’m sorry,” Viktor breathed, taking up the hand on his chest and kissing her palm. “I should have remembered you have to check in.”

Hermione gave him a tight smile and pulled the chain out from under her shirt, drawing closer to him and putting it around his neck. She rested her head against him as she thought about how much time. Four hours ago she would have just left for dinner, and she hadn’t gone into her bedroom after that. She set the device and watched herself study out of the corner of her eye.

She tucked it away and took Viktor’s hand in hers, leading him to the bedroom and closing the door behind them.

“Would a bath be alright?” she asked. “We could talk, and then maybe get some sleep.”

“Yes,” he said, but then drew her to him and held her tightly. “But tell me your plan right now. Right now, Myon, because my heart has one weakness. The doorway to my fears has but one name over the entrance, and if we are to spend a night together and then another six weeks alone, Myon… I can’t.”

She nodded against his chest. “Tomorrow I will write the Headmistress and ask to withdraw my status as a resident student and apply for status as a non-resident student. We could live at the cottage until late December. It’s not an ideal situation, but then nothing will be until I finally graduate and we’re just both in one place for a while.”

He sighed and she could feel the tension leave his body.

“If she agrees, I’ll send you a patronus when I find out.”

“And if she doesn’t?” he asked, his hands rubbing her back.

“Well… then I suppose it’s Plan B.”

“What’s Plan B, Myon?”

“No idea.” She tugged on him and brought him across the room and toward the bath, which he began to fill wandlessly, which was rather what she hoped he’d do. She stripped him of his clothes piece by piece, tossing the clothes generally somewhere behind them and his wand on top of the bed, not that he needed it half the time. She tossed her wand next to his, and then started stripping, an act he silently participated in.

As he had once before, he stepped into the bath first and sat down, then held her hand as she followed and stepped in, sinking into the water and reaching up to turn off the tap.

As she lay back in the hot water and in his arms, she sighed and felt somewhat calm for the first time in days. Even his last night had been bittersweet.

“What was it like for you last night, Myon?”

“At first it was just sad and lonely, but I just tried to focus on how close we were to living together anyway, and so that helped. But I woke fairly early on from a nightmare and nothing helped. I just spent the whole night awake and terrified. And nothing helped. And then the nightmares I had throughout the day when I fell asleep studying, well, they were fairly gruesome. I won’t go into details. But they all involved losing you. Having you, and then losing you. Permanently. And each time I woke up I thought you were really gone. And nothing helped. Not even two dozen concordia helped.”

Viktor squeezed her around the middle just a little bit before letting his arms rest gently against her again.

“What about you? How was your night?” she asked.

Viktor sighed and she could tell his head was leaning back against the tub now, as he was no longer nuzzling her head.

“I, too, was consumed by my fears. Stupid fears. Stupid angers. But at the time, so real. So painful. But I did not sleep. I ran. Then I swam. Then I prayed. It was a little better by dawn, but an exhausting way to spend the night.”

Hermione put her hands over his. “What were you afraid of?”

Viktor sighed and was silent.

“You’re the one who says talking about these things helps, but if you don’t want to discuss it with me, will you at least talk to your father?”

Viktor sighed again. “I will say it to you. It is just... difficult.” He sighed again. “So difficult.” His words, when he was able to finally speak them, were very quiet and halting. “In general, I fear that I will lose you, too. In specific… and this is perhaps also… where the anger comes in… No, Myon. I cannot. I cannot tell you these things.”

“If not me, then Papa.”

Viktor groaned. “No, Papa is worse. He will very gently call me idiot child and I will feel every inch a child, and an idiot, both. You may be kinder. At least with you, I will be idiot man.”

Hermione stroked his hands.

“It is all made so difficult because these are not things I want to be angry about. And I have released so much anger about these things, and I thought I was finished. But apparently, no.”

He paused for a long while, then, but Hermione waited patiently. He had said it was difficult, and she believed him.

“It fills me with irrational but very real rage that there are two other men in the world who know the sweetness of your lips. Who discovered it when I had not the courage to be clear about my intentions. That I was nearly too late. Had you been even slightly more in favor of Ron, I would have been entirely too late. And that even now you could change your mind. 

“And I should have done more, earlier, Myon. That was so clear to me in the months after Fleur’s wedding. You had been circumspect in your letters, but you were clearly prepared. You had a plan and I was not a part of it. But why should I have been? I had not told you that I would have joined you, that I wanted to, that had you died in battle my heart would have died with you. And I should have been with you. The memory of it, and the dawning horror as all of my letters were returned, fills me with such shame. And how could you love someone like me, someone who has not the foresight to realize the woman he loves is about to sacrifice herself to the greater good?”

Viktor was weeping openly now, and so was Hermione.

“I didn’t tell you for a reason, Viktor. And it was the same reason that Harry didn’t tell Ginny. It was the same reason that Harry tried to convince Ron and I to leave him at first. And maybe we were all wrong. Maybe both you and Ginny would have helped to end it all quicker, with less pain and less suffering for everyone. Maybe our fears that you would die in our arms would never have come true. But it was a very real fear, Viktor. And I’ve had someone die in my arms. And I’d spent a good portion of my life hating him, and it still made me want to lay down and die right next to him, and I couldn’t.” 

Hermione was sobbing now, her words hitched and harsh sounding, but it was the only way she could speak.

“And if it had been you, Viktor, I would have died. I would have killed the bastard who had gotten you or died in the attempt, and then I would have thrown myself in the thick of battle hoping to take out as many as I could before I died.”

Viktor held her tightly as they both cried.

It was a very long time before they were both calm and quiet and Viktor had to heat the water twice over. 

“Don’t feel ashamed for what I hid from you, Viktor. I knew your heart. Maybe not that you loved me, romantically, but that you loved me as a very dear friend. You’re an intelligent and powerful wizard. I knew you would have joined me if I’d given you enough information. I took away your decision, just like I did with my parents, and I did it to protect you. And me. So be angry at me, but please don’t feel ashamed.”

“No,” he whispered, his voice raw. “Anger is no better than shame. They both must go for peace to return. You acted. And maybe you made mistakes. But you did the best you could. I acted. And maybe I made mistakes. But I did the best I could. And still we hurt each other. But now we are here. And maybe we can let the past go, or begin to do so.”

“I would like that very much,” Hermione said, her eyes filling with tears again, but quiet tears this time. “Viktor, I love you so much. And you have such a noble heart. I don’t love you any less for not realizing I had to go on an insane secret mission to end the war. And I’m sorry I didn’t ask for your help. I couldn’t. Then. But if I had to do it over again, now, I would.”

Viktor sighed and squeezed her tightly before loosening his hold and resting his head against hers. “Do you promise this? You will ask for my help, not hide such things from me again?”

“I promise.”

Viktor’s sigh was full bodied. “Oh, Myon. Such pain we have carried.”

Hermione splashed some water on her face and reached for the soap. As long as she was here, she might as well wash her face. After that much crying, she needed it. She pulled the plug on the bath before standing up. Viktor was just finishing washing his own face and she held out a towel for him before stepping out onto the bathmat.

“I know we’re not done with the conversation, but I want to take a break and brush my teeth and get in bed. Because if we’re going to discuss your jealousy, I’d like to be able to do that with my hand on your cock.”

Viktor huffed out a single laugh and shook his head.

“What?” Hermione asked.

He chuckled a bit and ran his hand through his hair. “It is not how I imagined you taking this.”

“Oh?” Hermione asked, drying off her legs. “What were you thinking? Hysterics? Rage? Jinxes thrown? Please. That’s for when I’m jealous. And really Viktor. A fair portion of the wizarding world gets a little swoony about you. There’s plenty of space for me to be a jealous cow, here. But me? Hell. Ron barely noted I was a girl and didn’t ever really want me for more than ten minutes together, and Cormac obviously just thought I was easy and wanted a quick fuck. This doesn’t say much about me and I don’t think you have much to worry about.”

She hung up her towel, and then his when he handed it to her. She fetched a spare toothbrush for him and broke open the plastic wrap.

They brushed their teeth. Hermione had already flossed after dinner, so it was quite quick. She shooed him out so she could use the toilet and then gave up the room to him and turned the bed down, putting some bluebell lights in the bedpost jars and then placing their wands on her bedside table. She laid out her pajamas and her robe on the chaise lounge and tidied their clothes that had been flung on the floor, folding his neatly, and putting hers away to be worn after class tomorrow as well. He was just coming out of the bathroom as she was setting out her running gear and when she was finished, she turned around to see a sight that warmed her heart. Viktor, sitting up naked in bed, the blankets pulled up to his hips, smiling at her.

Possibly he was smiling because she had been bent over and he had gotten an excellent view of her arse in the air. Still, a smile was a smile, and she was happy to get one from Viktor.

She extinguished the rest of the candles in her bedroom and climbed into bed, but sat for a moment, facing him.

He laughed a single laugh that had little humor in it and shook his head. “Hermione, you are so beautiful. And brave. And intelligent. And you’re the Queen. If at any point you wanted a distraction from me, you could have it. And that terrifies me.”

Hermione shook her head. “A distraction with men who only think they know me? Who only like me because I’ve wielded Excalibur? Men like Cormac who are self-absorbed slimeballs? Or men like Ron for whom I am just occasionally convenient?”

“No,” he said sadly. “If you go looking for distraction, you will find it. And it will be perfect for what you want in that moment.”

Hermione sighed. “I can’t promise we’ll never fight. Or disagree. Or hurt each other. We seem to be able to do that somewhat involuntarily. But I bloody well can promise you my fidelity. And if I have the willpower to refrain from spending three hours in the Valley of the Shadow of Marathon Sex in your parent’s back garden, then I think I have the willpower to refrain from cheating on you should the urge strike, and I certainly have the courage to tell you that I had the urge so we could fix whatever went wrong between us. For certainly Viktor, something would have to go terribly wrong between us first for me to want anyone else. Hell, when I am upset with you, you’re still all I want. It’s very confusing. And reassuring at the same time.

“So let me be clear. We are not yet married. But I fully intend to marry you, Viktor Cyril Krum. And I will be faithful to you until we marry, and I will be faithful to you ever after. I promise. Other things may get ugly between us, sometimes. But I’m not going anywhere.” And then her voice dropped into a whisper. “And I’ve already figured out you’re not replaceable.”

Viktor reached out and took her hand and she scooched closer on the bed to hold his comfortably. 

“That party in your sixth year. That you invited Cormac Bloody McClaggan to. If I had declared my intentions earlier, and if you had agreed to be courted, would you have invited me instead of him?”

Hermione considered it. “Well, I certainly wouldn’t have invited him, no matter what. If you were already living in Britain at the time, yes. I would have invited you. If not, I would have just gone by myself and dealt with the repercussions, or possibly talked with you and Harry to see if you were both okay with Harry and I going as friends. Though Harry was on my very last nerve that year, so that might not have gone well.”

He was tracing patterns on the back of her hand with his thumb.

“When you first told me about this, you said he was supposed to be the British version of me. What did you mean? Was it just the quidditch?”

Hermione sighed. “Not just the quidditch. There were other similarities, though they were always vague. He was older than me, though clearly not more mature. He had a similar build as you did, then, Similar facial features, though of course there were differences which now seem glaring. I called him stupid, but really he was a decent student, just not nearly as intelligent as you, he was certainly more studious than my friends. And he showed interest in me. And I thought that it was the same way you had, how you really saw me, and valued me as a friend and respected me as a person, and of course I was dead wrong about that one. He had nothing like your heart. Nothing like your curiosity. And there was no connection. No spark. In fact I was mildly repulsed by him almost from the very start, and you’d think that would be a warning sign. But it wasn’t. I chalked it up to ‘unfairly comparing him to you’, and talked myself into giving him a chance. Which I have regretted ever since. And honestly my worst fear about this is that you’ll meet him at some quidditch match at some point and he’ll take the opportunity to crow about his so-called conquest of me and embarrass you. In front of your teammates. In front of your coaches. Worse, in front of reporters. And all he did was steal a kiss. Dreadful, slobbery kiss. And a grope. Before I got away.”

“No. Come here,” he said, tugging on her hand ever so gently. The gentle pressure continued until she straddled his lap with the blankets between them. She shivered and then suddenly felt the wash of his magic over her with the warming charm. His hands rested on her hips and hers on his biceps.

“Myon, I know how to deal with braggarts. And if he says such things about my wife, no one will respect him. And if he makes such statements before the press, I, too, will make a statement and it will embarrass him more than me. He did not try to honorably court you, and so I have no respect for him. If he has a brain in his head he will say nothing untoward when we meet and pretend he never met you. If he does not, that will be his choice, and his consequences. Do not fear for me. I will win.”

Hermione smiled at him and sighed.

“Kiss me,” he demanded softly, still leaning back against the headboard.

Hermione quirked a single eyebrow and then started with his chest and slowly went higher.

“Tell me that you love me,” he demanded in the same soft way.

“You are my North Star,” she whispered in between kisses on his neck. “You teach me what love is.” Kisses along his jaw. “I would die for you.” Kisses along his cheekbone. “I would live for you.” Butterfly kisses on his lips. “I love you, Viktor.”

He captured her lips with his and she rose up on her knees to get comfortable. Her torso pressed against his. Her nipples were hard and aching and the pressure both helped and didn’t at the same time. She groaned into his mouth. She broke the kiss off and let her head drop back, felt him kissing her throat.

“Oh, Viktor,” she said on a groan. “I want you to suck on my breasts so badly, but I daren’t ask you because I think I’d probably just come.”

He moaned against her throat. One of his hands moved up to hold her breast. He held it just right, which made sense given the practice he’d had.

“Harder, harder, harder,” Hermione whispered, and shifted one had between her legs, but after a moment, possibly the moment Viktor had figured out where her other hand went, he put both around her waist, looked her in the eye and pushed her back.

“Shift,” was his next quiet demand.

“What did you have in mind?” Hermione asked. She may have been stubborn. She may have had a bossy streak a mile wide. But it was still an absolute thrill to come up against Viktor’s quiet, clear, distilled determination. And he wanted what he wanted, as Elizabeth might say. He wasn’t petulant. He wasn’t whingy. He wasn’t selfish. He wasn’t stupid about things. He was easy going and almost passive when he had no preference. But when he wanted something?

He made sure he got it.

And somehow, that made Hermione’s mouth water.

“Lay back,” Viktor said with a nod toward the end of the bed.

Hermione did so, immediately.

Viktor shifted, coming out from under the covers and going face first between her thighs, kissing his way down one, his hands cupping her wide open hips.

Hermione groaned as he started licking and nibbling on her labia. She had asked once, when they had first started to become quite intimate with one another, if he had a preference, if she should shave her mons as well as her legs and armpits. Which made Viktor check her legs and ask her why she shaved them, or her armpits, and wouldn’t that lead to uncomfortable chafing?

When she laughed and pressed him on the original question he had been baffled and finally asked her why she thought he’d want her to look prepubescent. He liked the fact that she was a woman and thanked her not to erase all the signs she could.

Hermione had laughed and thrown her razors away the next day. Sometimes, as just then, she wondered how he dealt so well with the hair that covered her mons. But then again, she kind of liked his fuzzy ballsack, so maybe it was similar.

Still, she didn’t think of it for long because Viktor’s tongue was so lovely.

Hermione grasped her own breasts and gave herself the stimulation she wanted there.

She came sighing his name and shortly afterwards he crawled his way up her side, kissing and licking as he went.

When he got to her neck, he spoke. “I,” he began, his voice clearly full of self-satisfaction, “did not come, despite being face first in your delicious flower, or hearing you speak my name in the sexiest way possible, the way that haunts my waking hours.”

Languid, warm, safe, and happy, Hermione turned her head to look at him. He was looking deliciously smug, and well he should. It was the whole point of the stamina drills, after all. “Well done,” she said. “Would you like a treat, or are you going to see how long you can last?”

His face moved closer to hers and his answer was whispered on her lips.

“Both.”

* * *

A little origami cat note pounced up on top of her Pendragon Historian Tutor’s desk, right in front of where he sat, while he was in the middle of telling a story she had already read. The cat note assumed a full, upright sitting posture, stared at the tutor for a moment, and then unfolded itself.

Her tutor was surprised, but frankly, Hermione wasn’t. It wasn’t often one saw notes from the Headmistress, but it was November, and they were now a known entity. Adorable. Efficient. And scary, as no one wanted to be called to her office.

“Oh. Oh. Yes. Yes, I see. I see. Well then. Miss Pendragon, the Headmistress requests your presence in her office directly after this class. The password is Utterly Ridiculous Notions.” The tutor started as the note let out a screech of feline outrage and ripped itself up, much as a howler did when it was finished.

Butter wouldn’t melt in Hermione’s mouth as she smiled and politely thanked her tutor, checking her watch and with relief finding there was only three minutes left.

He let her out a little early and Hermione debated taking the shortcut through her own suite to Minerva’s office, but no. If she’d been given the password, which was obviously a commentary on her request as well, then she’d also been invited to take the long way and use the grand entrance.

It all meant that she would be late to Arithmancy, which she did not like at all, but needs must.

When she got to the guardian and whispered the password, she wasn’t nervous. She was resolved.

Entering the office, Minerva was alone, writing on a document at her desk. She did not look up, though undoubtedly she knew Hermione had arrived.

“Good morning, Headmistress. You wished to see me?” Hermione politely sent out into the aether.

“Do come in and have a seat, Miss Granger Black Pendragon,” the old witch said after a moment, not looking up, still writing steadily.

Hermione did so. She crossed her ankles. She folded her hands over her black beaded purse. She glanced at her watch.

“One more moment please,” the Headmistress said, signing the letter, folding it, sealing it, and calling for an owl. “All due haste, please,” she told it. Then she turned to Hermione. In her thick Scots brogue, she asked a single question. “Have you lost your mind?”

Hermione raised a single eyebrow. “No,” she said calmly.

“Is this about Viktor?”

Hermione did not twitch, did not shift under the steady stare of the Headmistress of Hogwarts. “No,” she answered quite truthfully. “It’s about me.”

“And Viktor,” she prompted.

“Yes, and Viktor.”

“Hermione. It is a day less than six weeks before you move in with him, permanently. Can you not wait a day less than six weeks?”

Hermione took a deep breath. “No.”

“Would you care to tell me why?” she demanded.

_Not when you’re in a snit,_ Hermione thought. “No.”

The Headmistress threw up her hands even as a door behind her opened and Narcissa stepped through.

“Good!” she said sharply, getting up but walking away toward another closed door. “You’re here. Speak to your ward!” The door opened, the Headmistress went through it, and the door slammed shut again.

_ I’m going to miss arithmancy for this little drama. Such a simple request. Such a simple decision it might be. If Dean and Lavender snog in the hallway three times, they lose their residency automatically. I can’t get gone if I ask nicely. _

Narcissa walked quickly to her and moved the other chair in front of the desk a little closer to her. Hermione had stood up to greet her and they held hands briefly and kissed each other’s cheek.

“Good morning, Narcissa,” Hermione said blandly.

“Good morning, my dear. Won’t you tell me what’s going on?” the older woman asked gently as they both sat again.

“I requested a change in my residency status. I suppose this means it’s been denied.”

Narcissa held her gaze steadily. “Was it an official request?” she gently asked.

“Yes,” Hermione confirmed, nodding slightly.

“As an opening salvo? No quiet word dropped in her ear, first?” Narcissa asked slowly, her very manner, though still gentle, speaking volumes on her opinions of Hermione’s methods.

Hermione sighed. “I didn’t really think that was necessary. It’s a simple matter. I’m not sure what all the fuss is about.”

“I take that to mean Minerva has not explored her concerns with you about this matter?”

“No,” Hermione replied, biting her tongue about what Minerva did say.

“Well, then let me share with you mine. I have two concerns and they are of equal importance to me. First, I wish to minimize the distractions in your life until you graduate. By this, you understand, I do not count Viktor as a distraction. But opening and maintaining a household is, and there are countless little things that arise and eat your time away. And whether you regularly have twenty-four hours or regularly more, that doesn’t matter. Second, which would surely count among the first concerns were it not so large, here in Hogwarts there are layers upon layers of measures to ensure that you remain safe and entirely unmolested.”

Hermione gave Narcissa a look that spoke volumes on her opinion of safety at Hogwarts.

“Now, wait,” Narcissa said, a sharpness entering her tone for the first time. “Fully half the howlers that have been immolated at the gate have been aimed at you, Hermione. You’ve received fifty-three death threats, including ten credible ones that have led to arrests. Twelve letters would have cursed you instantly had you even so much as touched them. Not the inside you understand, the outside, before even breaking the seal. And that is just in the grave and serious categories. There are also the annoying, frivolous, stupid, and unsavory categories. Nearly half the students here get some, but you get most. And this wasn’t something we were going to discuss with you until at least after your NEWTs so that you had time to adjust to the idea and learn the whole battery of spells, charms, and potions required for you and your entire household to master, but most certainly including Viktor, and Mr. Longbottom, your secretary. 

“I know you are adept at warding, but warding 50,000 acres takes a team. And stamina. And brooms, Hermione. And the wards are all down right now, due to construction at both estates. I know you managed to study last year, running, fighting, winning a war, but you shouldn’t have to just manage.”

Hermione reached out and took Narcissa’s hand again, but didn’t meet her eye. “I do see your point, and it is very well made.” Hermione spoke quietly as she continued. “I… I… I’m not trying to be unreasonable. The simple truth is… I, I can’t sleep without Viktor. He keeps the nightmares largely at bay and the hysterical crying jags down to fifteen minutes instead of three hours. It’s… not really about the sex. It’s everything else. And Minerva has been so generous, and I’ve been given so much leeway, so many privileges, much more so than the other students, the other war veterans. I don’t want to ask for further special treatment, and in a way I wish I’d never received any at all. I never asked for any of this, Narcissa, and I feel so guilty having it all. I can’t ask for more. This was the only reasonable, responsible way out. Though I see it’s much more complicated than I first thought.”

Narcissa squeezed her hand, then released it. “Let me go have a quiet word with Minerva.” A moment after she left the room, a voice spoke in the slight rasp that all portraits had. It was a familiar sneer, however.

“Well, you really cocked that one up, Miss Granger.”

She looked over her right shoulder and saw that Severus Snape’s painting was not empty. His arms were crossed over his chest and his hair was pulled back from his face. A single eyebrow was raised but somehow his glare wasn’t nearly as devastating as it had been over a cauldron in life.

Her smile was a soft, sad thing, and she could feel herself getting choked up. As she got up to speak with him, he barked out at her.

“You cry, I leave!”

She sniffed and blinked and kept smiling, kept approaching his painting which was only slightly above eye level. “Me? Crying? No.” She kept sniffing.

“I see tears,” he accused.

She sniffed hard. “Tears of joy. I assure you. I’m having a brilliant day. Can’t you tell?”

It really looked like he wanted to smile despite himself.

“Minerva adores you. Always has,” he said sharply. “All this Gryffindor posturing. Utterly ridiculous. So many words and nothing said.”

Hermione sniffed again. “I was trying to do the right thing. It’s a bad habit I have.”

“Yes,” he muttered. “We share it.”

Hermione sniffed. “Since I have you here, how would you feel about a posthumous knighthood?”

“Don’t you dare,” he hissed.

“So that’s a yes, then?” she asked sweetly, the tears streaming down her face, now.

“Miss Granger, I’m warning you…” But then he didn’t. They just stared at each other.

“You may call me Hermione, or Your Majesty,” she said boldly, though her voice cracked.

His eyes further narrowed.

“So you don’t want to be one of my knights, then? Knight of the Round Table?”

He stared, silently.

“Yes, Your Majesty, I’d be honored,” she said, lowering her voice.

“Excellent, Headmaster. I’ll see to it in February,” she said, replying to herself in her own voice. “Well, that’s sorted.” She smiled and it was filled with both sorrow and joy, somehow.

“Thank you, Hermione,” he said quietly, and then disappeared out of the frame.

“See you in February, Severus Snape,” she whispered to his empty frame.

When two extremely calm and rational witches came back into the room to see Hermione standing at a certain empty frame with tears streaming down her face, they said nothing, though the younger of the pair gently placed a handkerchief in her hand and eventually once composure returned, she came back to the desk and sat down for round two of negotiations.

* * *

A great glowing dog bounded through Inferi Hell and all of the training paused on the ground mid-calisthenics as the patronus stopped at the newly acquired seeker. “Plan A is dead. Long live Plan B,” said a woman in a mild alto. The patronus dog then proceeded to flop next to the seeker, roll onto its back, wriggle a bit, then get up and bound away.

Krum, who was mid-sit up with his hands behind his head like everyone else, plastered an innocent look on his slavic features and shrugged helplessly. When the defensive coach who led them this morning shook his head and looked away, continuing to count loudly, some of his teammates did catch the Bulgarian’s wide grin.

Clearly, this was something that needed to be discussed at length in the locker room for the next several months. Poor Kaminski would miss all the best parts, but they’d be sure to bring her up to date in the sauna. Still. By the end of the day it was agreed. Their future Queen had a very calming voice. Very reassuring. Good, in a queen.

And didn’t Krum’s family breed gigantic dogs? Hmm. True love, then. And with such a beauty. Beauty. Brains. Valor. Rank. Clearly Krum was a lucky dog.

And thus the new seeker’s nickname was born.

_ Plan B Lucky Dog. _

Now everyone on the team had one, again, and the very next match at Inferi Hell it would be taken for a ride, as the announcers there used last names, positions, numbers, and nicknames entirely interchangeably. It was a quirk of Hell. And it was a relief, really, that the new seeker finally had one. It meant he finally belonged.

* * *

_ November 11, 199_  
Hogwarts Castle _

_ Sweet one, _

_ Plan B: It took negotiation, but much good came out of me missing arithmancy today, including a deeper appreciation of Minerva, Narcissa, and a past Headmaster. The short of it is that you may continue to spend the night with me, practicing all due discretion as you have been. The long of it is that this will be a privilege extended to all engaged students with traumatic emotional injuries from the war. As there are, in fact, three eighth years and a seventh year engaged, they will be notified and the seventh year will be moved to a suite. We all also had to undergo private conversations with the school nurse concerning family planning and she was remarkably kind about it. Not her usual self, at all. _

_ I would still love to take a nip of sea air in the evenings with you, perhaps a walk on the beach, I hope you’ll still take me out for dinner on Saturday nights, and I still want to study with you on Sundays at the Cottage. But from after dinner to coffee and croissants in the morning you shant need your bed in Ely and I shall be all the warmer for it. _

_ Also, it was announced at lunch today. There is to be a Yule Ball this year and starting this year, every year. It is to be held on the solstice, two days before we leave for winter break. (Accio Heelstrike will be playing, and while they’re not U2, it should be good fun.) _

_ Will you do me the honor of escorting me, my sweet and beautiful man? This time it will involve dinner as well as dancing.  _

_ There is no one in this world I would attend with, save you. _

_ Yours entirely,  
_ _ Hermione _

* * *

_ November 11, 199_  
_ _ The Cross Hotel, Ely _

_ My beautiful and determined love, _

_ Your heart is so big. I am glad that out of this more people are helped than either of us had imagined at first. This certainly cannot be part of normal practices, even at a school with such a relaxed attitude towards rules as Hogwarts (be not offended, my love. I only compare with my own experiences with Durmstrang, which we have conceded were quite different indeed) but these are not normal times, either. _

_ There were other unintended consequences of the most positive sort. I was grateful for the patronus as it put my mind at ease. It also helped me to click with the team. I had not realized how important it would be to give them some fodder for teasing me. Now we all have nicknames again. Mine is bizarrely appropriate, but I will tell you in person. They do range from the utterly ridiculous (Sparkle Toes, a beater who came in one day not realizing his infant daughter had performed unconscious magic to make his shoes shiney) to the entirely intimidating (Chimera, our first string keeper who is, in fact, a beast, but apparently it came about because of an incident involving a team dinner involving entirely too many cloves of garlic and the ensuing bad breath competition). Mine is somewhere in between. Thankfully, explanations don’t leave the team and our families, though I’m sure an insightful person could meditate on mine and make a meaningful guess, should they wish to spend their time in such a manner. But the press will never know. _

_ I am so relieved to know that when we say goodbye in the morning it will never be for too long, and more relieved than I can say that at the end of the day I can truly relax, knowing we both have what we need to be safe and loved. And since your sleep is so often disturbed, let us strive perhaps for a bit more, rather than less. You need sleep, my beautiful Myon. _

_ I would love to take a walk on the beach with you in the evenings. I love exploring different restaurants with you on Saturday evenings. Ramsgate is a beautiful place to study on Sundays and I have grown quite accustomed to spending that calm and quiet time with you. I will be glad to still have the hotel in Ely for those in between times, as well as the other services they provide. (Their Concierge has been so helpful, they have an authorized Gringotts Courier, and they provide International Courier Mail as standard for me, so my letters to Mama and Papa arrive almost as quickly as I can finish them. This has been so helpful in my more difficult moments away from you.) _

_ But will you still write me your Saturday love letters? I hope so. Even when we live together entirely and completely in whichever castle or cottage it is something I would treasure from you, and something I could revisit should your business or mine cause us to be parted for an evening or two - not a prospect I look forward to, you understand, but a possibility until I retire. _

_ Speaking of which. I will likely get drafted for the Bulgarian national team again this coming year. It will involve 35 days at the height of the season in which I will not be in Ely, but then all local quidditch is suspended during this time. Bulgaria did not make it past the semi-finals this year, but then, that loss was mitigated entirely for me by receiving your letter. If your schedule permits, this could be a time in which we stay with Mama and Papa, and though it will not be entirely vacation-like for me, I will have sporadic days off. But this could also be a time when I might commute, or perhaps when others might join us at The Rosary - I think here of the Potters, possibly the Malfoys, and certainly your parents should they wish it, because yes, I am certain you will have them back to you by then. Plans are in motion, my beloved. But I will say no more, there. _

_ I look forward to seeing you after dinner, my own Myon. Your actions have calmed my heart today, and I am so grateful. _

_ All my love, forever,  
_ _ Viktor _

* * *

_ November 13, 199_  
_ _ Hogwarts Castle _

_ Dearest Viktor, _

_ Today I will have watched your team head off against the Holyhead Harpies and I will have done so with Narcissa and Draco by my side. Frankly I have no idea how this will have been. People get so worked up about quidditch, but I noted last time I was in the families box, some of the wives of your teammates are quite fancy looking and have reasonably decorous behavior. I mean, really Viktor. You might have warned me I was meant to wear an evening gown to fit in. So saying, it's my guess that Narcissa and Draco will go with what I like to call Hunt Club Casual which is a far cry from my own standard casual. Which means I still need to dress up. Naturally, I have forked over this problem to Ginny, my Wardrobe Specialist, who bemoaned the lack of time to go shopping. I still fully expect her to work miracles. She always does. Though we may still go shopping. Perhaps next week. But then I have the same problem I had before - I'm still gaining weight and so what size will I be? And can I make due with the clothes I have until my weight actually stabilizes somewhere? _

_ Still. Let us imagine I wore jeans regardless. Likely you'll see them at dinner (could we try Ethiopian by the way? If not tonight, soon? Ever since Luna mentioned it, I've been curious.) And of course the boots we both like so well. Let us imagine that Draco and Narcissa and I enjoyed ourselves immensely, for I hope we have. And perhaps Ely has triumphed. Perhaps they have not. But perhaps before dinner we might take my tandem broom around the castle and see what sort of construction has been occurring? I mean, if you're not too tired. If you are, we could do it another day.  _

_ Apropos of nothing, naturally, I've had a quiet word with Mory and asked about the Roman Bath. It's on now, water flowing, everything. He'll send an elf out to maintain it a few times a day, it and the associated bits and bobs. I've also made sure both floo are open and registered, though only you or I can go into 'Pendragon Study, Wales'. More people currently have access to 'Pendragon Castle,' but you certainly do. (The wards do allow exit apparition, so you know, but we'll have to decide where we want to allow people to apparate in. I'm thinking possibly a remote area of the Great Lawn, behind the height of the Enclosure wall.) We could, perhaps, have our relaxing evening bath there, tonight. If you're amenable. Of course, it's likely we'll often have guests, so infrequent will be the time we can just skip bathing suits altogether. Among other things. _

_ Oh, Viktor. It's hard to know what I truly love more. The sex, such as it is, is already amazing. But to sleep with you every night, to know that is not going away, that it’s not temporary… Waking in the same bed, whether I'm all cuddled up to you or not and actually being able to sleep most way through the night, most nights, Viktor… That is so valuable to me.  _

_ You make me feel safe, again. _

_ I love you,  
_ _ Hermione _

* * *

Hermione was early. She was early on purpose. She was early so she would not be late. Ginny had taken great pains on her outfit. Boots, looser jeans, light blue thin sweater, black suit jacket with Concordia, all the usual jewelry, and hair in perfect ringlets - shiney, soft, and luxurious.

It was the hair that had taken by far the most amount of time.

“Merlin, Hermione. Your hair, when tame, is stunning. It is absolutely stunning. With hair like this you could wear sweats and still steal the show,” Ginny said, standing back and looking at her handiwork.

“Yes, but it takes ninety minutes and eight different products, plus a wand and at least a third hand, to get it that way. And that’s on a good day.”

“You do have a time turner,” Ginny had pointed out.

“Yes,” Hermione said, putting her earrings on as she had remained seated at her dressing table, Ginny directly behind her and looking at each other through the mirror. “But I’m trying to not be frivolous in its use. Sleep, studying, sex. And occasionally giving Viktor and I enough time to resolve a fight.”

“You fight?” Ginny asked, derailed.

Hermione shrugged. “Not often. But yes, we have gotten angry at each other. Hurt each other’s feelings, you know, that kind of thing. Differences of opinion. I don’t know if you noticed, but we can both be rather determined. When we’re all wound up and facing in the same direction, it’s lovely. When we’re not, it’s less fun.”

“Merlin, that’s such a relief. Not that I want you two to fight or anything, but I’m glad you’re still human.”

“You and Harry fight?”

It was Ginny’s turn to shrug. “Not often, but a couple of times. Just makes me feel like dying inside.”

Hermione nodded and they were silent for a moment before Ginny took a deep breath, shook her head and smiled.

“So, your hair. You may not be surprised to know that I’ve had some thoughts about this, Hermione…”

Then they had a fantastically interesting conversation about theoretical charms work and the arithmantic model (the part at which Ginny had no aptitude) that would be necessary to predict the requirements for a single two-part spelled potion that could be applied by a single person with two hands, and conceivably how long it might last.

“You know,” Hermione said as she finished getting dressed. “I’m going to need to do further study in ley lines and very likely blood magic, whether or not I end up getting masteries in them, but I still would like to do a mastery in arithmancy. Also ancient runes, but that’s neither here nor there. But my point is, I wonder if as a part of my mastery work I could work on these calculations for you. I mean, if you don’t mind. And maybe you want to hire out the work and get it done quicker, but it’s a thought, you know? I won’t be offended if you do need to, just so you know. And really, I’d need to do a great variety, of calculations, I mean, and I haven’t even had a conversation about potential masters, yet, because obviously mine is going to be nonstandard and significantly part-time. Oh, I don’t know. Where was I going with this? Nevermind.”

Ginny gave her a hug. “Thank you for wanting to help me with this. It means a lot to me,” she whispered. “Thank you for taking me seriously.”

Hermione squeezed her tighter for just a moment. “I always take you seriously, Ginny.”

Hermione thought of that quiet moment with Ginny and it made her smile as she waited just outside the VIP portkey zone designated for families of the home team. While she waited she had three rather awkward conversations with strangers who had just started talking to her. Hermione had naturally assumed the worst and was a hair’s breadth away from pulling her wand by the third time. After that person wandered off Hermione did pull her wand and tapped it idly against her thigh. She didn’t want to be thrown out for fighting, though, as that would be so much worse than simply being late. 

It took her almost the entire ten minutes she was waiting after that to realize all three, two men and a woman, had been trying to chat her up.

The realization happened and then immediately Narcissa and Draco had arrived, landing smoothly and, in fact, wearing Hunt Club Casual. Narcissa’s hair was even in a French braid. They wore light brown twill trousers - each a slightly different shade. Thin sweaters underneath short sports coats, Narcissa in an ice blue sweater, Draco in forest green, each with a darker brown coat. Draco in short boots, Narcissa in tall ones, and each looked ready to ride a horse.

Then again, so did Hermione.

But it beat wearing an evening dress to a quidditch match.

The women greeted each other holding hands and a then a kiss on each cheek. Draco leaned in and gave her a single kiss on the cheek and she him, as she tried not to get metally distracted by just how far they had come, as people.

Narcissa took her arm and Draco walked slightly behind them.

“My dear, you look absolutely gorgeous today. How are you feeling?”

“I’m well, thank you. And better now, with the changes to the residency policy. It just… makes things easier.”

“Everything’s easier when you can get a decent night’s rest,” Narcissa agreed.

“Thank you so much for all your help with that.”

They continued on to the Families Box, which was not so far away and chatted as they went. Hermione told her about her brief conversation with the former Headmaster and all that it might entail. And then she asked about the possibility of commissioning another portrait of him.

“Normally it would be out of the question, but if the current portrait consents, which it seems he might if you ask him while alone, and I presume it’s Harry who still has his memories?”

Hermione agreed that he did.

“Well, if he’s willing to give those up to the cause, then it could be done. Will you have portraits painted of all your knights?”

“I probably should, though to be perfectly honest,” Hermione said, walking through the door that Draco held open for them and murmuring her thanks. “I’m not keen on having a painting of Ronald I have to look at, and I know it will incense Viktor.”

“That’s the easiest part, Hermione. Hang it in a salon you never visit and make sure to offer that salon to any of his family members should they be guests of yours after Christmas. They feel honored and you don’t have to look at his face. Everyone wins. And should he die precipitously and start wandering about the frames looking for company, there is a way to lock him in-frame. We had to do that with Walburga.”

Hermione’s sudden intake of breath was audible as they found three seats together in the front row. Hermione sat in the center. “I wondered why she never just left.” Conversation in the box had quieted when they came in and Hermione checked out of the corner of her eye.

Yes. The fashion plates were dressed to the nines again, and dripping with jewels. And whispering. And looking at her. It almost made her want to wear Morgana’s Torc, but that was a ridiculous notion, so she squashed it.

Narcissa noticed her glance.

The older woman leaned in and forward a bit, so that Draco could be included. “Hermione, don’t let those women make you feel awkward. They are profoundly overdressed for reasons of their own, likely involving their own low self-esteem, which is pitiable, but not something which should dim your enjoyment. You are the most radiantly beautiful woman in this box today, and you didn’t need your best dress to carry it off.”

Hermione blushed at the compliment and only smiled in response.

“Really, Granger,” Draco said. “You tidy up very well these days.”

Hermione gave him a rueful grin. “Thank you, brother mine. How are the snakes?” she asked, changing the subject.

“They’ve mysteriously disappeared. I think mother has put some sort of plant there.”

“Orchids, bromeliads, and flowering bananas. It’s a perfect spot for them.”

They chatted for a bit until the game began. Someone came round and offered them programs, which they all took.

It was largely a fast-paced game. Early on Hermione shared an intense glance with Viktor when he saw her, halfway across the field. Well, it seemed like he saw her. It was hard to tell when he was that far away. Still, she smiled at him and winked, just in case he was looking at her, and not trying to play his mind games with the Harpies’ seeker.

As promised, the announcer spoke very quickly and interchangeably used the team’s nicknames, which she’d barely noticed before because she hadn’t paid much attention to the announcer, instead allowing Harry and Ginny to interpret the game for her. This time she had no such luxury, and Narcissa and Draco were largely quiet beside her, though they sighed and groaned when the Harpies got a goal and cheered and clapped when the Inferi did. Really, it was like watching a sports game with sane people, rather than fanatics. It was a bit of a relief, actually.

The Inferi won after three hours and eight minutes, which was a bit long by Hermione’s standards, particularly when she clearly could not read a book instead. There were several times when she thought perhaps she’d caught Viktor looking at her, but as that was unlikely it was probably all just part of his standard mind-fuckery, and they’d certainly won by an excellent margin - more than 150 points. He was beautiful to watch, though, and Hermione found herself staring at him with a slight smile on her face through much of the game.

As the game ended and both thanked her for inviting them they made their way out and Hermione’s arm looped through Draco’s in the same companionable fashion Narcissa had done with her earlier.

“Plan B Lucky Dog?” Draco drawled. “There’s got to be a story behind that,” he said, clearly fishing for information. 

She might have told him in the box, but not in the hallway.

“There is,” she assured him simply.

He narrowed his eyes at her. “No more cheese for you. I’m cutting you off.”

Hermione gave a dramatic little gasp. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would,” he assured her.

“You know it’s top secret. But as you’re my brother, I’ll sketch you an outline in a letter provided you tell no one, and keep the cheese coming.”

“Done,” he said, navigating the crowds to get to the shortest line for an exit zone.

* * *

_ November 13, 199_  
_ _ The Cross Hotel, Ely _

_ To the temptress in the red boots, _

_ I want so badly to fuck you in the Roman Bath. If I have not been abundantly clear about this already, let me do so now. _

_ I want to fuck you in the cold pool. _

_ I want to fuck you in the hot pool. _

_ I want to fuck you in the steam room. _

_ I want you to come on my tongue as you sit on the edge of the pools. _

_ I want you to suck my cock as I sit on the edge of those same pools. _

_ I want to fuck you on the massage benches, and the heated lounge seats. _

_ I want to fuck you as I bend you over the fountain in the hot room. _

_ I want you to fuck me as I lay back in the steam room, and then I want to eat you, have you sit on my face and see how many times I can get you to come before we are too hot and have to change venue. _

_ I want to fuck you up against the wall in the vomitorium and communal toilet, just for a sense of completion, you understand. _

_ I want you to ride my cock in each of the orgy rooms. When one of the sleeping rooms is changed out for a weight room, I want to eat you out in that comfortable chair we put there just for you. Or would it be our chair, really? As I also want you to sit on my cock as I sit in the chair and slowly, so slowly, drive me out of my mind, it might be ours. _

_ So yes, I will happily go back to Wales with you after dinner, and meet you there before. Will you tease me only, before dinner? Grinding on top of me as we ride your broom, inspecting work? Will that really take all that long? Not that I do not wish to be thorough. You know it is my nature. _

_ When next you do so, speak to Mory about locking wards for rooms or sections in the Roman Bath. That mist holds many secrets, I think, and while the ancient Romans may have welcomed unexpected guests for orgies, your ancestors may not have, and I certainly don’t. Despite guests or visitors, there is no reason we cannot steal away a few hours to ourselves, or perhaps only keep it open for certain hours for guest use. _

_ Because I will have you there, and I do hope you’ll have me there, when at long last there will be no restrictions on our desires, save the ones duty dictates. _

_ Enjoy your studies, my beautiful maenad. And do not be too harsh on yourself if you have to take a private little break and put your hand between your thighs while your other squeezes your breast just so, and sigh my name. For certainly as soon as this letter is complete, and before I take it down stairs to be mailed and find a late lunch, I will be wrapping my fist around my aching, weeping cock until I find my release in the memory of your touch. _

_ If you cannot meet at five this evening in Wales and need a later time, send your patronus. Otherwise I will expect you with great anticipation. _

_ Yours, always,  
_ _ Viktor _

_ PS - I come so hard when I’ve been more or less aroused for four hours. Naturally I cannot use a charm on myself during a game. It is strictly against the rules. And I’ve never needed the gentleman’s charm during quidditch before.  _

_ Warn me next time, Myon.  _

_ You were so ethereally beautiful, so alluring, so intensely sexy that I almost fell off my broom. I’m honestly amazed I had enough blood left in my brain to assist my team in winning. Certainly the usual mind-fuckery was absent. And the teasing in the locker room was unmitigated hell. Have I mentioned the showers are communal? Fuck. Even the memory of how you looked this morning… your hair, your lips, your eyes, and I’m hard again. Oh, fuck, Hermione. Whatever it is you did today, remember it. And do it again. On my birthday. _

_ PPS - Please don’t imagine that I disagree with you about the importance of sex. But you mentioned the Roman Bath, turned it on, and gave me access, and this you tell me after you come to my game looking like Aphrodite who has singled me out for attention. I claim justifiable distraction. _

* * *

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK!” Viktor cried, his voice echoing around the stone and water and mist. He was sprawled out on the tile, one leg bent at the knee, his foot in the water of the hot pool and his bewitching Aphrodite had just made him come, and come more times in such close proximity than he thought he could. Now he might never move again.

But in a moment, perhaps just two or three moments, really, he would do something about the fact that she had only come the once.

Yes. In just a moment.

And then he was asleep.

He would wake later to discover his love with a towel wrapped around her body, and another draped over her shoulders, and a third over her feet, lounging on a heated chaise and reading a book by the light of her favorite blue flames.

As he came to, he discovered that all his muscles ached just slightly, so he rolled himself into the hot bath and swam gently, stretching, before getting out and making good on his promises to himself.

He cast the warming charm on her as he got closer and he relished both her gasp and her groan. She had put her book away and tossed her purse to the side. She was still covered, though, so she must have been cold, Viktor reasoned.

He cast the charm again, holding her gaze.

She made one of the little noises he so loved and then sighed his name.

Close enough to pull the towel off her feet, he folded it a few times and dropped it to the tile, and then knelt on it. His hand smoothed up the top of the leg nearest him and then under the towel without shifting it at all. He stroked her, happy to see that there was a bit of moisture despite however long she had been reading on academic subjects. He cast the warming charm again, and then decided to try something new.

He cast a mild warming charm specifically where his fingers were. If it got too much, he could cancel it, and there was a cool pool only a few steps away in the next room.

Hermione’s groan was loud and long.

“Tell me if it becomes too much,” he said.

“I will,” she breathlessly promised. “Do it again,” she urged.

He did. Again and again until she was writhing against his hand. She was swearing and calling his name when she came, and Viktor watched the beautiful process unfold before him. His sweet Aphrodite. His beautiful Myon. The bearer of his heart, and one day, God willing, the mother of his children. Oh, how he loved her.

In that moment he was aware, very keenly, of just how much of a lucky dog he really was. It put all the humiliation of earlier in the day in perspective, and seen properly, he had no problems. No problems at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hurrah! I'm still on schedule for publishing Loki of Midgard on April 12, 2020, and it will be available in both print and ebook formats. You can always find it on my Amazon Author Page. If you're curious about the cover art, which I've finished, you can find an unlocked spoiler (meaning anyone can access it) over on my Patreon Page.
> 
> _I'm so excited!_
> 
> [EDIT: As this is not an advertisement, and in compliance with the policies of this website (which I have no desire to violate), all the previously occurring links have been removed. If you want the novel, you'll have to internet stalk my website to find it. Which you can do, if you're desperate for awesome.]


	27. Chapter 24: Wherein Viktor and Hermione invade France.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, they embark on a trip and do have a lovely lunch there. Perhaps ‘invade’ was a bit grandiose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, still loving on this story.

Hermione had invited Viktor to join her as she sat down at her weekly meeting with Mory, her much saner head elf, and listened patiently as he gave what were becoming the standard updates, then it was her turn for questions. Today she had only one, delicate though it was. 

“I have a question for you because I trust you’re the only one who will give me a totally honest answer, and not the answer I want to have.”

The elderly elf gave Hermione an odd look from his stool by the fire in her study. She herself was seated on a cushion across from him on the hearth. Viktor was on the sofa.

“What does Mistress Pendragon wish to know the truth of?” he asked in his kindly fashion.

“You know the situation with my parents.”

The old elf tugged his ear and nodded sadly.

“You know I deeply respect the International Statute of Secrecy, and not just because it is wizarding law, but because it protects magical beings like elves, and merfolk, and centaurs.”

The old elf nodded sagely. They had discussed it at length.

“You may not know that I have one living grandparent. My mother’s mother, who lives in France. She is also a Pendragon, and a Bennoit, but entirely non-magical, and of course we have never been allowed to tell her.” Hermione took a deep breath, because there was no going back after this. “I want to know if I would have your blessing to tell her.”

Mory sighed and tugged on his left ear while he stared silently into the fire.

“It is a hard fate to have families so torn. This cannot be how it was meant to work, I think. It makes for a hard world,” he said, clearly considering the issue.

“Whatever else we do, Mory, let us make this world less hard, for others, if not for ourselves,” Hermione said, considering all the reforms she wanted to enact and wondering if it might actually take her whole expected lifetime of 110 more years to get everything to a better place. Maybe. But if so, what a legacy to leave. A better world, in only a hundred years.

“You have my blessing, Mistress Pendragon, and I am honored you have sought it. Tell your grandmother, and we will bring her to your wedding, and your seating. Little Josy speaks French, you know. Her mother was a Beauxbatons elf. I will arrange for her to listen for you, and to know of your errand. Call upon her when you wish to leave France and she will remember your grandmother’s home, and fetch her when needed.”

“Thank you, Mory,” Hermione said quietly. “I have no further questions today.”

The old elf nodded once, then he began to tell her about the secrets of the Pendragon Castle in Wales.

* * *

[translated from the French]

_ November 16, 199_  
_ _ Hogwarts School for Gifted Children  
_ _ Hogsmeade, Scotland _

_ Dear Grandmama, _

_ Viktor and I have decided to get married after Christmas, and we would like you to attend. We’ll actually be in Provence this Sunday, and I wondered if we could stop by for lunch. We haven’t much time, no more than a few hours, but I wanted to introduce him to you, and tell you a few other interesting details besides. _

_ Look for us around lunchtime on Sunday. _

_ Love,  
_ _ Hermione _

* * *

_ November 16, 199_  
_ _ Hogwarts Castle _

_ Dear Mum & Dad, _

_ I haven’t written at all in November, I know, and here half the month is gone. It’s been tumultuous, but I’m happy to report that at no time was I in mortal danger! There was a bizarre powerplay with my former Head Elf that left me dehydrated and exhausted for days as I recovered, but still, not the end of the world. But that led to further drama, since Minerva allowed Viktor to spend the evenings with me until I felt better, and I got so used to being able to sleep through the night (such a novel concept in recent days) and then Viktor was gone, and I couldn’t and he was a mess too, so… long story short, I negotiated and now all engaged students seventeen and older with emotional trauma (which is all of us, of course) can have their intended spend the night. And so Viktor hasn’t quite moved in, I have a new Head Elf who is just the sweetest, kindest old thing, and I can sleep at night. Mostly. I mean, there are still nightmares and crying jags, but not near as bad as they have been. _

_ So, my new Head Elf, Mory, who is quite two hundred years old and who only expects to live another thirty years or so, is now courting Pampy, one of my personal elves from the House of Black, and there is a bit of drama there that I try not to laugh at. Apparently he approached them together and told them he had permission to court them and Tampy flat out told him no, but Pampy ‘was curious’. This is what she tells me. _

_ Tampy feels her sister is betraying the trust by being courted by someone who once held resentment against me, and of course I’ve undergone an unbreakable vow with Tampy but not Pampy, and there are great fears that the world is going to end if Pampy accepts him. _

_ Pampy, on the other hand, feels that it is inevitable the two families of elves will get along and intermarry, and points out that I had been quite upfront about my hope that we’ll all get along soon, and quite upfront in the dreadful thing I had done to gain the other elves’ enmity. Pampy also pointed to Grims, the former Head Elf, whom she just calls the Poisoner, not, I have been assured that she’s actually poisoning people, but that she has a poisonous personality, and points out that it’s she who led the charge of hatred against me, and now that she is out of the picture it will be easier for Pendragon and Black elves to get along. And it has to start somewhere. _

_ In the midst of this, I have been trying to gently encourage Pampy to have patience and not to be too angry with her sister, and Tampy to have compassion, and not to do things that she might later regret. But it has been nice to get them to talk a bit more about themselves, which I have done in the past few weeks. I hope this won’t be a rift they can’t get over, but I’ve so little experience of house elves and their culture, I can’t actually say. Still, I hope. _

_ Mory, for all his years, is sweet and wonderful, he’s a good manager and he has a very amusing sense of humor. He’s a wise old thing and he has a place in my heart. His former mate died years ago, though I have no idea just how long. For all that it would clearly be a December-May relationship, as the Twins are apparently thirty (so many questions about what kind of elf Kreacher was before the horcrux), if they decide to go for it, I wish them well. _

_ Moving on a bit, I had formerly thought that my tiny little castle in Wales (oh look, poor me, my personal castle is so small and manageable compared to the one I currently live in, but I have so many elves, what will I do? Poor me.) was quite boring, you know, compared to Hogwarts and all its secret passages and rooms… And today Mory told me about the secret passages in The Curtain! And then we went and he demonstrated them all for me! _

_ First, there is a way to get down to the elf level (the basement and apparently sub basement), but it takes a Pendragon willingly offering blood to do it. (Of course.) It’s so that the elves will be entirely safe in a siege. I went down there and had a look around. They’ve got complete access to all the external food stores and water sources and the composting system! But of course they do. I’m coming to understand this castle means business when it comes to withstanding siege warfare, and even magical siege warfare, in a way perhaps that Hogwarts never quite was. _

_ Second, the bedroom Viktor and I chose, the blue front facing suite on the first floor has become the Master Suite, which is apparently more than a designation. It’s bigger, for one. But also, there is a secret door in the powder room that goes directly to the third floor study that I share with Viktor which is also a grand library, two sitting rooms/areas, two potion labs, and a dueling/charms work area, with a private floo connection. _

_ Third, in that same Master Suite there is a curtain (a fabric one) over a doorway of mist that goes to whichever part of the New Palace we choose to walk into, directly from our bedroom. _

_ Fourth, concerning the New Palace - the mist has several interesting properties and one of them is that if you walk into it with a firm idea of where you want to go within the structure, you go directly there, despite what room would come next in the layout. I don’t know if it will work for semi-magical or non-magical people, but it certainly worked for me. _

_ And fifth, there is access to the stones from inside The Curtain! It’s only from the third floor charms area. It’s a secret door directly into the ground floor courtyard of the area, and it’s strictly one-way. _

_ Viktor had sat in with my meeting with Mory tonight, and had accompanied us on our quick tour of the castle. He looks like he is bursting with insight, but I’ve made him hold off until later because it’s been ages since I’ve written you, and I missed how much it helps me to feel closer to you, and how ordered my mind feels afterwards. _

_ Lastly, I had a nice chat with Mory about the layout of my suite, and accommodating Viktor a bit more, and also (though it might be none of my business) the layout of the suites with couples in them, or other engaged persons. I suggested that if it was possible, he might consider upgrading their suites to include a short sofa and a bit of a private toilet and bath arrangement. I noted that Harry and Ginny, though both students, only had the same space as a single student would in the suite, and had to share a desk, which I thought ridiculous, though of course I don’t mind Ginny working out in my study. It’s nice to share the space in a quiet fashion. And that led to what I needed after Christmas break, which he’s just going to arrange for now. _

_ I’d say this is such a surreal time, but I’m not sure what normal really looks like. None of my years since I found out I was magical have been normal. The new normal is non-normative to begin with, so why should I expect it to suddenly settle down into a complacent, suburban Milton-Keynes set up? I suppose I should be grateful that there are no nefarious plots. _

_ Well, I speak too soon. Apparently they are, but other people are taking care of them for me, which… yes. Well. I’m just not used to adults being effective in that way. (Oh! That sounds so harsh. I don’t mean to be harsh. Honestly, I don’t. It’s just… been perhaps a hard seven years. Well, I’ll worry about death threats and curses via owl post come May, and learn to deal with them, then.) _

_ I love you, and I miss you. I’m coming to adjust to the idea that you really might return to me, remember me I mean, and so I’ve got a whole packet of letters for you, just waiting in my purse, to catch you up on all of the minutiae that I know you’ll want to know. Lord knows I’ve written it all down for you. _

_ Love always,  
_ _ Hermione _

* * *

“Luna, when is your birthday?” Hermione asked, fixing herself a sandwich at the lunch table. They had been joined by Tommy and Negash, and Harry, but Neville and Ginny had yet to show up.

“Last week. November twelfth.”

“Oh, damn,” Hermione said, pulling out her date book and marking it down.

“Mine’s August first,” Tommy offered blithely. 

Hermione grinned at him, then looked to Negash. “And what about you? When’s your birthday, Negash?”

“September third,” he said, and didn’t that just explain everything?

“Well, I’m sorry that I missed both of your birthdays. I shall get you something when I go out, Negash. Luna, may I take you shopping? The Yule Ball is coming up and perhaps you need a dress?”

“I have a favorite one I’ll wear. But will you have a pair of shoes made for me? There’s a favorite cobbler my father had, but he does ladies shoes as well, but really good ones, with dragon tooth heels and feather-light soles. Did you know that if you’re wearing dragonhide - real dragon leather, I mean, not the faux stuff they make now - that your feet won’t get cold, even in the dungeon? My feet are always cold.”

Hermione grinned. “I’ve got five trunks of dragonhide, and there’s probably teeth down there too, though I haven’t checked. I’d love to visit this cobbler with you, and I may need some shoes, too. Mind if Ginny comes along and we make a day of it? Lunch out, that kind of thing?”

Luna’s eyes lit up. “Ooh, yes. Check with your fabric elves. They should get to know the contents of those trunks, regardless, and then you can have them work with the cobbler on the supplies. And you know, I wouldn’t mind successive annual presents of dragonhide shoes to my measurements, in different colors.”

“What’s this about dragonhide shoes?” Ginny asked, sitting down next to Harry and putting a pile of library books on the table next to her.

“We need to go shopping,” Hermione explained.

“Yes we certainly do. You need to up your game in regards to Hunt Club Casual, for one.”

“And I missed Luna’s birthday. And she needs to introduce us to an excellent cobbler she knows.”

“You know, Christmas is coming up, Hermione,” Ginny said with a grin.

“And you’d like a pair of shoes?” Hermione said with a corresponding grin.

“You read my mind.”

“With the feather-light sole, you can walk on water,” Luna pointed out, apropos of Luna.

Harry almost choked with laughter.

Hermione narrowed a glance at him. “Not a word,” she said, pointing at him. “Only one of us has a savior complex, and it’s not me.” 

Harry still snorfled into his napkin and then proceeded to have a very long conversation with his Therapy Snake.

* * *

_ November, 17, 199_  
_ _ Hogwarts Castle _

_ Dear Elizabeth, _

_ All is quite a good deal calmer with me and mine now, and I thank you for your forbearance. I am quite well again, and perhaps a tiny bit better than I have been in the past. Enclosed, please find the list of the moments of mortal peril that I had not yet shared with you. And apparently Hogwarts security measures have kept me quite safe against the ten credible death threats I had unknowingly received, and arrests have been made. But I have not had to directly deal with it, and I am extremely grateful. _

_ A question about knighthoods. It may sound strange, but I would very much like to bestow a posthumous knighthood, and before you just say no, let me tell you why. First, he deserves it. He risked life and limb for years as Dumbledore’s spy in Tom’s camp, and though he is a controversial figure for a variety of reasons, he is sane, wise, noble, and the bravest man I have perhaps ever known, and that includes my ridiculous brother Harry who has bravery oozing out of his pores. And I would very much appreciate his council, as a knight. Yes, I know. He’s dead. And yet. Which brings me to my second reason: most of the people I will end up knighting (not the ex-boyfriend Ron, however) will end up helping me in some way. Harry wants to train to become my Librarian. (Oh, so many interesting things about magical librarians, Elizabeth, but I digress. The Great Library of Alexandria STILL EXISTS. In some form, at least. I want to go visit, but perhaps that will wait until Viktor and I take a honeymoon. Because of course we will go visit libraries on our honeymoon.) Neville is to become my secretary (or something like that. Currently we’re going with assistant, but I’m open to suggestions as concerns the title, there.), and of course they’re both my advisors as well. And I would very much like to extend the honor to my dead professor, too. (He was Headmaster, but not while I attended Hogwarts. Anyway.) And still, you may ask why. Or perhaps how. He has not left a ghost behind, but there is a single solitary magical portrait of him, which he allowed to capture his entire memory and personality, which not all subjects do allow. Normally a wizarding portrait requires the consent of the subject and a drop of blood (not strictly ritual blood magic, as there is no song, I don’t think, but magic involving blood), but apparently, because the extant portrait is, if you will, a complete picture, the portrait himself can give consent for another to be made. Now, while no one has a phial of reserved blood hanging about in stasis, we do have a phial of memories that he gave up to Harry to explain everything as he died in my arms during the war. Harry has agreed to give them up to me (he had no family to return them to, so Harry just kept them safe, along with his posthumous Order of Merlin, 1st Class), and so… I could have his advice and insight, and he could finally have some vindication for all his pain and efforts. I don’t like to ask him to agree to another portrait and help me without receiving a knighthood because… well, without going into too much detail I got the impression that he’d made a variety of Unbreakable Vows to both Tom and Dumbledore, and both were exacting masters in their own way, and neither one of them did anything for him that wasn’t self serving. And I don’t want to be that way. And perhaps this is just a glossier, shinier version, but I’d rather be the one to offer the honor first, and receive what he is willing to offer in return, and so be his final lord who has compassion and mercy, rather than another who is willing to literally work him to death. _

_ So, if you agree, there would still be oaths of fealty, etc, I would just be talking to his current portrait, as I’m not at all sure that a second one could be commissioned and complete by February. (Though of course it is possible. Honestly, I’m not sure. More on this later.) _

_ Speaking of the oaths of fealty, I haven’t done this yet but I think I want to sit down with each knight (perhaps Ron via letter, as contact with him either makes me feel quite sad, or fills me with rage - for details, read the enclosed list - and also triggers Viktor’s jealousy issues) and discuss what I’m going to say and what oath they want to make. I was relieved to hear you say that they could all be quite different. I’m thinking with Ron it would be quite sufficient for him to swear to keep my confidence, as he has already promised to do. But that’s the easiest one, really. _

_ So that’s it for the knighthood issues. I’ve contacted your leathersmith via post and I have an appointment to stop in with said sword for measurements while I’m out on Saturday shopping with my favorite ladies, Ginny and Luna. I have no idea if he’ll be able to do me a scabbard by the end of December, but it is six weeks, so armed with your letter of introduction, I’m hoping it’s possible. _

_ I double checked on this - once the sword is in the stone, I can take it out again, but I think it would only be me, Viktor, Harry, any children I possibly have, and possibly Neville if he’s wearing one of my signet rings. Gelwyn was very disturbed to hear that I might want to take it out again, but when I assured her it would be for less than an hour in order to participate in a ceremony in which no blood was spilled, but that people were honored by its presence, she looked less agitated. _

_ I don’t like to agitate Gelwyn, Elizabeth. She’s no light lady swanning about storing weapons in her free time. So, perhaps it’s time to tell you about the Merfolk.  _

_ First, we do not call them mermaids. Those are things of non-magical legend. The Merfolk live in communities in both lake and ocean. There are at least three different races, if you will. The freshwater dwellers, the cold ocean dwellers, and the warm ocean dwellers. The warm ocean dwellers look closest to the mermaids of non-magical legend. They have the most human-like features and the least fish-like features, though they do still have the tail, sometimes split, sometimes not. The cold ocean dwellers have the most fish-like features. The freshwater dwellers, with whom I have had personal contact, are somewhere in between. They are entirely green with rather flat human-like faces, but aerodynamic for movement in the water. They have a mouth full of shark-like teeth, and their tails are more like sharks - not the flat horizontal fin you see in Disney films, but an upright vertical fin at the end of their tail. They have gills on the sides of their necks, as I do when I eat gillyweed. They are sentient (obviously), live in communities and the freshwater dwellers build homes and live stationary lives (the ocean dwellers do not do either), they have an extremely complex culture with its own set of moral judgments, rules of behavior, and so on. They are not violent with one another but they do have a great deal of violence in their eating, and this I have born personal witness to. They farm, after a fashion, and fish, they build and use tools. They have wrought metal weaponry and I’m so interested to know how that came about, as they have no smiths and can only exist above water for very brief periods of time. They do have a capacity to breath air through their mouths and noses rather than gills, but I gather it’s not as efficient as their gills, and they get short of breath too easily, after a time. _

_ It is my belief that they were the originators of ritual blood magic which does not require a wand, and does require singing and the shedding of blood. Apropos of this, merfolk have no speaking voice. The freshwater dwellers cannot be understood at all above water unless you put water in your ears, and you’ll just hurt yourself trying if you don’t. It’s like fingernails on a chalkboard, but turned up to eleven. I understand that the cold ocean dwellers can be heard very well above water, and very clearly, and that is part of the siren legend, and the warm ocean dwellers very clearly but very faintly can be heard above water. But they all have the capacity to sing in the same beautiful, entrancing fashion.  _

_ Master Torquill, my Parliamentarian Tutor and the master of ceremonies I had introduced you to in a separate letter, has been working with Gelwyn to design the program. They check in with me occasionally and I’m grateful, but really, Master Torquill is enjoying himself no end, and I just have no interest, except in getting the thing done and done well. But I have been informed that there will be a merfolk choir, which should be a particular treat, and will require us to make about 20,000 water plugs for everyone’s ears. Or possibly to disseminate the spell and the water, and then have people on hand ready to make them for the children and the non-magical and semi-magical guests. _

_ Augusta and Narcissa continue to make great strides and it seems they have most details all wrapped up, though I’ll be honest; I’m totally grateful not to have to deal with any of that. It would be my idea of a nightmare, having to prepare an event like this. I’m glad there are people who are good at this sort of thing. And there will be Shakespeare on the Pendragon Stage! It’s so thrilling, Elizabeth. The response to the ad you suggested was overwhelming, and Narcissa was clear to mention that squibs up to the fourth generation removed were welcome and encouraged to respond, and they have! Of course, not all of the applicants were free for such a short notice rehearsal and performance, but enough were to make a go of it, and all are very, very interested in being long-term members of what might someday be the Regent’s Shakespeare Company, but for now is the Regent’s Players. Only one big name was free to join us this time around, but he’s been cast as the Duke, and he’s also willing to take on being the Director and he was able to recommend to us a Producer, a Stage Manager, and a Costume Director who were all in the know. And it’s Sir P_ S_! Can you believe it? Can you just believe it? His grandmother was a witch, and he’s always been close to that side of the family. Elizabeth, I’m going to get to meet Sir P_ S_! I’ll try not to be too much of a fangirl. But I might have to stroll down there sometime when I know they’re practicing on the stage and just soak it all in. When Narcissa provided me with a list of all applicants and their contact information who had Shakespeare in their repertoire, I almost fainted, I tell you. I’ve seen some of these names on the stage, and they were just brilliant. So many of them RSC! I’m slowly working through writing each of them a short note, bit of a form in some ways, but inviting them officially to the currently loose gathering of the other RSC. Of course, I need to figure a way to secure funding for this. I’ll be discussing this with Narcissa as well, because I think she might have a flair for such things. _

_ Okay. Moving on. I have quizzed my Head Elf most particularly on the secrets of the castle in Wales and he has admitted that there are no hidden monsters, but there certainly are other secrets, and he’s walking me through them one by one. Apparently everything that doesn’t have to do with the New Palace is a secret that involves the castle becoming impervious to siege warfare. And the New Palace continues to be an indefensible piece of frivolous fluff, but now I know why the elves hate it so much! They credit it with the downfall of the Pendragons! Given the fact there are orgy rooms and both banqueting and vomiting facilities (part of the communal toilet), I begin to get their point. I think it’s easy for the modern world to remember the good and useful things the Roman Empire has given us - the maths, the architecture, the sanitation and medicine, the politics, and so forth, and forget that it was bread and circuses, work every other day, and watching lions not just devour Christians for sport, but massive bloodbaths and beastiality on stage, paedophilia as standard in men’s lives, and orgies of food and sex at home. Ah, Pax Romana. _

_ Please forgive me for using you as a mail owl, but would you be so kind as to pass on the enclosed letter to Charles from me? I wanted to get on his calendar for Harry’s knighthood in February.  _

_ Also, it was recommended to me that you might like some books on these various topics, but of course there’s nothing available for a semi-magical audience that isn’t totally patronizing, and I’m not giving you those. But I have included in here copies of Hogwarts, A History (this year’s edition which does cover the Final Battle), Quidditch Through The Ages, and Fantastic Beasts And Where To Find Them. I know, they’re tiny. I’ve put a very mild shrinking charm on them that should wear off sometime between twelve and seventy-two hours from now, so if you just set them aside, they’ll soon regain their normal size. And of course this all makes me think about other things it would be useful for non-magical parents to know: a complete and in depth curriculum overview of all seven years, of all courses offered, and as well a theoretical underpinning for each subject matter. I mean, perhaps some parents wouldn’t give a fig, but I know mine would have been quite interested, and would have liked to have had a basic understanding in order to discuss it more readily with me. _

_ That’s it for this week. Thanks again for the two weeks off. I had to get well, and then screw my head back on straight again, but I think I’m good now. _

_ Hoping you’re well,  
_ _ Hermione _

* * *

_ November 18, 199_  
_ _ Buckingham Palace _

_ Dear Hermione, _

_ Now that I know you can be trusted to be quite forthcoming and regular in your communication, if you do, perchance need to skip a week, I will quite understand. I will miss our ongoing conversation, of course, but sometimes life makes demands that must be met immediately. _

_ I have in the past offered medals, decorations, and honors on the dead, though I usually offer them privately to the next-of-kin, but if your professor, in death, seems to still be quite himself as it were, I think his portrait could be a fine stand in. In such a case, simply hold Excalibur before him, tip to the ground, I think. _

_ I have noticed that your newspapers use the postnomial abbreviation OM for Order of Merlin, which of course makes sense, though I am more used to it meaning Order of Merit, but you might do well to consider the postnomial abbreviation KM for Knight of Merlin. _

_ About this professor of yours. I take it that he was the spy, the Headmaster of your missing seventh year? Do I understand correctly that he was the one you could not save, who died in your arms? I’m so sorry, my dear.  _

_ I have wished over and over, and particularly as I read your lists, that such horrors need not have been yours. And it seems quite clear to me that though you and your fellows to be knighted did admirable jobs of it, it need not have been you. Yes, I understand that Harry was a horcrux as well, and in the end that was taken care of without him dying entirely, but I still do not approve of this grooming of you to be a child soldier. It was entirely unnecessary. Were there no other people of merit, resiliency, and stout heart who could not have sufficed? Are the pickings of Avalon so bereft? I take it you have no standing army? And the police force is unequipped? Have you no analogue to MI5 or MI6? _

_ See to this, Hermione. I do not ask you to go to war. I do not ask you to hoard power like Dumbledore in his sentient castle. And I do not ask you to revive or compete with this Order of the Phoenix. And I do not ask that you do this in the next ten years. But clearly, clearly there must be a comprehensive plan in place that is agreed to by all stakeholders to both provide quality investigation and decisive action and possibly covert operations when absolutely necessary. The unmitigated bungling that occurred with Tom’s bids for power was an utter farce, and people died. It happened. Let it not happen again. _

_ Your Regency will change many things for Avalon, and so many of them may go unnoticed; those little actions we take to make life easier for all, cleaner, healthier, safer, kinder. You may not be thanked. You may not be liked. You may in the end be respected, but perhaps not even that by the majority. But you will have done the best that you possibly could, and you will have made the world a better place for having been in it. If you can do those things and also find happiness with your lot in life, such as it is, then you will have lived the best possible life anyone can hope for, my dear. _

_ So your castle has secrets, does it? I’m glad there are no monsters. _

_ Thank you for the books. I have put them up for safekeeping and will check on them in a few days to see if they could be read without a microfiche machine. _

_ I’m thrilled to hear that the Regent’s Players have been born, and that you will manage to have such an excellent Director and Duke on board. I do enjoy having seen him in roles before, and I will be very happy to see him on your stage, if time permits. You are allowed your excitement, Hermione. Do not lose your joy in the midst of all your responsibility. I’m quite looking forward to meeting your husband and seeing him play quidditch, and I am allowing myself that joy. (It sounds fascinating to me. The boys have always enjoyed polo, and I feel there are certain similarities there.) Allow yourself yours. _

_ As to funding, when you consult with Narcissa, which I think is a wonderful idea, consider the idea of patronage and know that the House of Windsor will join as a patron. _

_ Charles has included letters for you and Harry, and I have a letter for Master Torquill. _

_ Enjoy yourself in the midst of your studies and your responsibilities, Hermione, and do not forget to take care of yourself. _

_ Your friend,  
_ _ Elizabeth _

* * *

_ November 19, 199_  
_ _ Pendragon Suite _

_ Dear Minerva, _

_ Might it be possible for me to have an entirely private conference, somehow, with Headmaster Snape in such a way that does not unduly single him out and so provide awkwardness amongst his colleagues for him? _

_ I have convinced him to receive a knighthood, gotten Elizabeth’s blessing on it, and now I have some rather pointed questions to put to him. Among other things I want to have a second portrait commissioned. If that second portrait is not finished and ready by the time of the investiture, might we borrow his Headmaster Portrait for the ceremony? _

_ Thank you so much,  
_ _ Hermione _

* * *

_ November 19, 199_  
_ _ Office of the Head _

_ Your Majesty, _

_ I believe that can be arranged. It may take a bit of finegalling, and I shall try to arrange it for an afternoon next week if it can be done. There is a single landscape in my private study that is by invitation only as concerns wandering portrait figures. I shall see if I can secure an audience with him on your behalf next Friday at four in the afternoon. Be a moment early and I’ll let you into the space. I daren’t set foot in, for he would leave. _

_ I would arrange it earlier, but it may take significant time to have him tracked down and to get the message to him privately. _

_ Of course I will make the portrait available if necessary. Do invite me to the investiture. I should like to see him again. _

_ You’re quite welcome,  
_ _ MGM _

* * *

Hermione opened the bottle of wine and Viktor unwrapped the cheese and started slicing it. Luna had been alerted to come and join the gang at nine on Friday if she wanted the latest in care packages and she brought along a jar of tapenade from her horde, so then in addition to apples, fried things, and nuts, there was also olive tapenade on crusty bread and an entirely delightful cheese selection that was Draco’s thank you for the quidditch game.

When Ginny asked how the game went, Hermione tried to hide her smile.

Viktor slowly turned to her. When she looked at him, she knew she was blushing. He had one eyebrow raised and he was silently communicating something to her, but she wasn’t getting the message.

“You didn’t tell them?” he asked quietly, though of course everyone could hear.

Hermione scoffed. “They don’t ask me about quidditch. And I don’t tell them everything. Just, you know, when I don’t know what you’re on about.”

“Don’t make me ask Luna how it went,” Ginny warned.

Luna giggled. “It’s really funny, though. You should get Viktor to tell the story.”

Viktor’s head slowly swivelled to take in Luna and her giggling. Hermione couldn’t see the look on his face, but she would bet it was priceless. “And how would you know this, Miss Lovegood?”

She grinned. “Because I see right through you, Mr. Krum.” She crinkled her nose at him.

At this, Viktor stopped slicing cheese entirely, sat back on the couch, spread his arms along the back and let his head fall back entirely. “Will the humiliation never end?” he groaned.

“But the Inferi won. Prophet said it was a good game. You were in rare form, Kaminski was a beast on goal, the Harpies had a good showing, but it wasn’t good enough, etc, etc,” Harry said. 

“Not sure this has to do with that, mate,” Neville said mildly, filling his plate.

“I don’t get it,” Harry admitted plainly.

“Well, let’s get some wine and then I’ve got a toast,” Hermione said.

“Oh, God,” Viktor groaned, still not moving.

Everyone had a wineglass in their hands for the toast except Viktor, whose glass was waiting for him on the table.

“I would like to propose a toast to Viktor, who can still win games and outplay the opposing team, even while thoroughly distracted by me. To Viktor’s Mad Skillz.”

“To Viktor’s Mad Skillz!” everyone agreed, and they toasted him while he had his hands covering his face.

Everyone had drunk to Viktor and his undoubted skill and was plating up goodies when Hermione turned to her beautiful man who still had his hands over his face. “Do you want to tell the story, or should we hear Luna’s version? It could be quite good.”

Viktor groaned in response.

“I won’t, unless I have his consent. That wouldn’t be right,” Luna said.

Viktor sighed and let his hands fall to his lap. “Go on. I am mildly curious as to what you will say.” He still wasn’t looking at anyone but the ceiling, however.

“Well, it was you, wasn’t it Ginny? That helped Hermione get ready?” Luna asked.

“And I did a terrific job, even if I say it myself. We got her hair absolutely perfect. Perfect, I tell you. She could have been wearing sweats and those bunny slippers of hers and still rocked a party.”

“So true,” Viktor muttered.

“And she wasn’t wearing sweats. I’m sure she wore clothes that flattered her, because she always does,” Luna continued.

“That’s also Ginny, these days. Used to be my mum. I have no natural aptitude, is where I'm going with this. It’s always other people, and I’m grateful,” Hermione added.

“And Viktor is a professional,” Luna said. “I’m sure he’s not distracted by many things, not many at all when he’s focused. Especially as his job is to notice what others don’t, in the midst of great distraction. And he is the peak example of this job done well. But I think, you know, we all have thresholds beyond which we get triggered. We can only take so much. And I think we just discovered what Viktor’s threshold is; and I’m sure it wasn’t just that her hair was wonderful. But sometimes when we do certain things on the outside, that promotes something on the inside to shine through. And certainly it is the case that often when we look good and we know it, it helps us to feel good and express it in ways we’re otherwise unused to. And if there is someone in our life who is devoted to us the way Viktor is with Hermione, then I imagine that a certain signal is sent in such a moment, something that says, ‘If you don’t come over here right now, you’re going to miss out on witnessing something so purely good, so worthwhile, and so very fragile that your lack of presence may ensure that it remains ephemeral, whereas your witness and fostering of it may command repeat performances.’ And of course it’s all very unconscious, very visceral. For a woman, she might talk about her heart. For a man, it might have to do with desire alone, hence the embarrassment, and if it is as strong as I imagine, I’m sure his teammates teased him mercilessly, because that’s what people do. But that’s just the surface, the reaction within us that ensures we get to the right place at the right time. Underneath it all, I think what really happened was that Viktor was able to see the beautiful light within Hermione, and mostly unobscured, and maybe for the first time. And inconveniently, it happened in the middle of one of his games. Or possibly right at the beginning.” And then Luna ate some tapenade, sighed with pleasure, and leaned back on the couch she shared with the Potters. “I love his tapenade,” she breathed.

“That was beautiful. And true,” Viktor said, now looking at the blond.

“Oh, you’ve tried the tapenade?” Luna asked.

“He means what you said before, Luna,” Ginny said.

“Oh, right. Well, that was just obvious. And if you took your teammates’ view of reality, Viktor, I can understand why you were so embarrassed. But really. Why do that? You might also choose to own your own interpretation of this, whatever it is.”

“Mm. My own interpretation.” He looked at Hermione. “I looked to Hermione and saw instead Aphrodite, who beckoned me to join her. That I had to say  _ wait _ instead of  _ yes _ crushed something inside of me.”

“That was beautiful, Viktor, and true,” Luna pointed out. “But I bet it didn’t remain crushed.”

Hermione was looking at him and she loved the devilish look he gave her; the quirk of an eyebrow and a tiny smile, but also a look in those dark eyes that called to mind a beautiful evening filled with figuring out how to eat Ethiopian food and many, many hours of fornicating in the Roman Bath. “No,” he said, staring at Hermione boldly. “It didn’t.”

Harry cleared his throat.

“So, Luna. How’s your campaign with Draco, then?” Neville asked, changing the subject.

“Slow and steady,” she reported back with a smile, but then, she was often smiling.

“He is a fool if he does not see your worth,” Viktor remarked, putting a few fried things on his plate and sitting back with his arm behind Hermione’s shoulders.

“I think he does, but he’s scared, and fear doesn’t mobilize him, like it does with our lions, here. Fear makes him hide until he feels safe again. So everything is hidden. His thoughts. His feelings. But that’s okay. I’m working on developing a safe space between us, and I don’t mean to rush him along, not really. At least, not at this point. Everyone deserves to have a safe space, don’t you think?”

“What do you do when you get scared, Luna?” Harry asked.

“I intellectualize.”

“And that means…” Ginny prompted.

“It means that I think about it. I think about anger. I think about pain. I think about fear. I think, think, think, and I don’t feel. Because thinking feels safer than feeling because feeling involves going back to the darkness that scares me and facing it. Of course, that’s the only way to get rid of it, but it requires great courage. I have that courage, but sometimes I forget because just thinking about it instead seems like the rational response, and it certainly is a more pleasant sensation. But in a way, intellectualizing is only good for martialing my courage to the fore. And if I dwell there too long, the fears and anguish multiply while my back is turned, for all that I don’t feel them doing so.”

“Pretty sure I do that,” Harry said.

“I do that,” Hermione agreed.

“Yep, me too,” Ginny said.

“I try not to, but yes, it is still a temptation,” Viktor admitted.

Everyone looked at Neville. He nodded. “It’s a familiar pattern,” he admitted with a wry grin.

It was quiet after that as the group of friends silently ate and drank.

“Can we do this after we graduate?” Harry asked quietly. “I don’t want to lose this.”

Hermione smiled and Neville silently nodded. It was Luna who responded.

“I think that’s a wonderful idea. We all need connection, to be around people who love us, appreciate us, and understand us. We’ll be busy, but no more or less busy than we are now.”

“Well, I’ve got a castle with forty bedrooms, so you’re all welcome to stay for long periods of time. I mean,” Hermione glanced at Viktor, having not actually discussed this with him, specifically. He nodded his approval and so she continued on. “Neville, if you want to get out of your Grandmother’s house, you’re more than welcome to move in. We’ll set you up with private space and set some boundaries so you don’t feel like you’re just working all the time. And we have 50,000 acres. There’s more than enough space to host any herbology project you’re considering, if you didn’t want to do it elsewhere. You don’t have to decide now, but consider it as an option.”

Neville grinned and nodded silently.

“Harry and Ginny, I know you’ll have your own lovely home soon enough, but I hope you’ll come and stay with us for long periods. I know our parents will.

“Luna, you’re always welcome, and especially if it’s hard to be in your father’s house. Viktor’s friends, likewise, will come and visit us and stay, and I think,” here she looked back at Viktor, who nodded silently again, “we just always want our home to be open to the people we love. Especially since we’ve been given so much.”

Luna smiled. “I will take you up on that. May I stay with you over the Christmas holidays?”

“Most certainly,” Viktor answered.

“Let’s stay with your sister for the holidays. We can visit Mum and Dad for Boxing Day,” Ginny urged, putting her arms around Harry’s neck and giving his cheek a brief kiss. 

Harry nodded and leaned his head against hers.

“I would like to invite Bill and Fleur to stay over Christmas as well. She is certainly the most local of my own friends,” Viktor said, and Hermione smiled in response.

Ginny sighed. “She’s rather intimidating as sister-in-laws go, but she and Bill seem to fit quite well,” she grudgingly admitted.

Harry looked at her and Hermione watched as he tugged lightly on a lock of her hair to get her attention. “Hey. You’re already perfect, Gin. No need to compare.”

“You don’t compare yourself to me, do you?” Hermione asked, rhetorically.

Ginny snorted. “I know your faults all too well, Hermione. You don’t intimidate me.”

“Fleur also has faults,” Viktor pointed out calmly. “She’s nosey. A good friend, but still. Nosey. And she’s sometimes a little too insightful. Also, she can read lips. This is very inconvenient, sometimes.”

A look of recognition dawned over Ginny’s face. “Oh.  _ Oh. Oh, I see. _ ” Then she shifted that look of recognition to Hermione, who didn’t quite get it.

“Oh, God,” Viktor groaned and laid his head on the back of the couch again.

“You know,” Ginny said while grinning hugely, “a little bird told me that Fleur subscribes to various French style magazines.”

“Oh...  _ dear,” _ Hermione said quietly and somewhat surprised. But, of course… And she’d known… Because Ginny had said… But she hadn’t imagined… Oh, dear. And she read lips. Oh, dear.

“I don’t get it,” Neville said.

“You know how Viktor usually scowls at the camera? Well, there was that one time he didn’t,” Ginny said.

“Yeah, I’m failing to see how that could be embarrassing,” Harry said.

“That might be,” Luna posited, “because you’re failing to grasp the magnitude of understatement your wife is using. So, Viktor,” she said, turning her insight on him. “Were you entirely naked?”

Viktor groaned.

Hermione came to his defence. “He had his trousers on.” Still, she was grinning.

“Barely,” Ginny said in a sing-song voice. “According to Mum. And Fleur. I wouldn’t know. I haven’t seen the pictures. But apparently you have, Hermione.”

“Of course I have,” she said, still grinning.

Viktor groaned.

She turned her grinning gaze on Viktor. “So, did Fleur write to you after that and tease the hell out of you? You never mentioned.”

Viktor groaned. “That is because I have not yet decided if it was best idea or worst idea of my life.”

“Wait, when was this?” Harry asked.

“Round about the time he discovered I was lusting after his picture in the paper,” Hermione said, still grinning.

Viktor groaned, and this time put his free arm over his face. He was now hiding in his own elbow.

“Right,” Neville said decisively. “If a man wants to do a sexy photo shoot, then I say he should be able to do it without all this falderal. Viktor, good for you.”

“Did you do it just to impress Hermione?” Harry asked, totally in earnest.

“Essentially,” Viktor said on a groan, still hiding under his elbow.

“‘Mione, were you impressed?” Harry asked.

“Entirely,” she confirmed. “Totally and completely.”

“Right,” Harry said, his voice carrying his conviction. “So then it did exactly what you wanted it to do, Viktor. Well done.”

“Come on,” Hermione quietly cajoled, leaning into Viktor’s chest a bit more. “You’ve nothing to be embarrassed about, my beautiful man. Go back to the place where you were shameless. Women only tease like this because we’re impressed and it’s not always acceptable or convenient to admit it. And besides, when they asked you to make love to the camera, you did a magnificent job of it. Honestly. You totally got that camera off, Viktor. Hard. At least twice.”

He laughed at that and came out from hiding. Silent laughter still shaking his chest, he leaned his forehead into hers. He didn’t say anything, like he might have done if they had been alone, but his laughter and his joy said everything that was necessary, then.

Then Luna proposed a toast. “To Viktor! May he always get what he needs.”

Everyone toasted Viktor and this time he just smiled at everyone and then kissed Hermione ever-so-chastely on the lips.

* * *

_ November 20, 199_  
_ _ Hogwarts Castle _

_ My darling Viktor, _

_ Today you played the Bournemouth Bulls. Well, your whole team did. Did you win? Did you lose? I have no way of knowing. But I know that you flew well, you were not distracted by me, as I was not there at all, and most importantly you did your best. You always do. _

_ I hope that you are doing well and feeling good and not in any way injured. However it is that you are, I hope you will take care of yourself well, and I look forward to having dinner with you tonight at the restaurant of your choosing. Tell me where I should meet you at six and I will be there. _

_ I love you, my darling one. I feel I don’t tell you this often enough. But I do. I love you. I don’t have your eloquence to guide me through moments like this, but I have bluntness, and I have honesty. So I’ll just say that I’m so grateful that you’re in my life. I’m grateful that you love me. I’m grateful your heart is so big and that you’ve learned your father’s lessons in wisdom so well. And I’m grateful you had such an amazing mother, because that has prepared you for me. Okay, that came out wrong. I think what I mean to say is that I noticed when we had dinner with them the first time that Sofia is a strong woman and a powerful witch and it dawned on me at some point that with a mother like that, it was no wonder you aren’t intimidated by strong women, and that you are instead quite comfortable around them, rather than the simpering idiots and the mask of simpering idiot that some rather intelligent women don in order to fit in. _

_ Some people I know would love to have groupies and would have shagged every single one of them. And you have always seemed… vaguely repulsed by them? Something like that. _

_ One day soon, will you consider bringing your cello back? I would love to hear you play, and even if you’re just practicing in the background, it would be very welcome. When I was little, my parents always played music (records and tapes, and the radio, I mean, they were not musicians themselves) in the background, and it is something that I miss. _

_ Well, not a particularly sexy letter, but one that is full of love. Let me give you something a bit sexier. I’m hoping to buy a cute date night dress. Not eternal style, just something for now, at this weight that I could wear out with you. Possibly an LBD (little black dress) that can be accessorized in so many different ways. But after dinner, and a walk on the beach, I’m very much looking forward to having you peel that dress off me, Viktor. I want you to make me come, just by kissing and sucking my skin, and all those lovely erogenous zones you’ve so thoroughly documented. _

_ 41 days. 41 days until penetrative orgasm, Viktor. Oh, the things I want to do to you. The things I definitely want you to do to me... _

_ I love you so,  
_ _ Hermione _

* * *

_ November 20, 199_  
_ _ The Cross Hotel, Ely _

_ My sweet Myon, _

_ Well, the Inferi lost to the Bulls today, which means our season is officially over, and we are in the post-season, now. It is hard to lose, no matter when. Earlier in the tournament only has different regrets than losing now, in the finals. Bournemouth will continue on to the National Championship next week, and I wish them well. _

_ I think I will go for a run, then a swim, then a nap. And then I will be fit to join you for dinner. Just floo to my hotel. If I’m still feeling down, I’ll save the more elaborate plans for another day. _

_ These are the moments I would love to lose myself in your arms and in your thighs, to sink into your body and have to neither think nor feel. And yet, would that be the best thing? Why should I offer you all my pain and sorrow when I also have the means to release it? I love the idea of slow, sweet sex after a defeat, but I think I would just rather take the opportunity to have slow, sweet sex when we both feel like it, and perhaps after a defeat… I just need to take care of myself. _

_ I don’t know. Luna’s words last night convicted me. I am glad you have such wise friends, Myon. I was worried, with my distance from Papa and Mama I would not be challenged on my foolishness often enough, but I see now I should have no such concerns.  _

_ I want always to be brave enough to get for myself what I need. And I think, after a defeat, perhaps what I need is time to let it go. And I can hide inside of sex, inside of you and wait for you, in a way, to resolve my problems for me. But when I put it so clearly I do not like it at all as an option. I want to bring to you my best, Myon. Always my best. And sometimes, my best is quite broken and still it is the best I can offer. But I do not wish to bring to you my brokenness when I am reserving the means for fixing it. That seems… strangely manipulative. _

_ I love you, Myon. I am grateful for your love and your light, and I will happily peel your new dress off your beautiful body and make you sigh my name in pleasure. It is among my favorite things to do, you know. But to be in your presence, to share your thoughts, your feelings, your love. All these are as important to me as sharing my body with you and partaking of your own. And despite my nap today, I may be ready for an early night and a long sleep curled up around you. _

_ Thank you for making me feel safe, Myon. I love you with all my heart, and all my soul, and all my body, and with the very essence of myself I do love you. _

_ Forever yours,  
_ _ Viktor _

* * *

_ HERMIONE TO INVADE FRANCE? _

_ Daily Prophet Staff Reporter  
_ _ [moving picture of Lady Granger in the arms of Viktor Krum, arriving via portkey] _

_ International suspicions have been aroused by Lady Hermione’s unannounced arrival on France’s sunny shores yesterday morning. The press were out in force to greet her, along with French Aurors who took Granger and Krum both into custody. They have not been seen since and could not be contacted for comment. _

_ Viktor Krum, a fairly decent seeker who recently lost the National Semi-Finals for the Ely Inferi by ending the game early and catching the snitch at entirely the wrong time, has half moved into Hogwarts under their new rule allowing engaged couples to partially cohabitate if the students are of age and have ‘emotional bruising’. _

_ When sought for comment, Inferi Head Coach J.X.C. MacAster said, “Viktor Krum has not applied for vacation this week, and he was not responsible for losing the game against the Bulls. That was a team effort, you clod, and thanks for rubbing it in. I signalled to Krum to end the misery, and he did, on my order. You have seven seconds to get to an exit zone. Tippy! Release the dogs!” _

_ When sought for comment, the Countess Black said, “This is libel!” _

_ The intrepid reporters of the Daily Prophet will bring you all the latest breaking news on England’s most recent invasion of France. Will this war be over in a hundred days? Could Lady Hermione be content with simply taking Provence or will she want Paris, too? Will a new Joan of Arc rise up against her, and will her old war pals Harry Potter, OM, Ron Weasley, OM, and Neville Longbottom, OM talk sense into her fevered brain, or will they join her in the insane bid for power she’s clearly already roped Krum into? If Hermione Granger turns into our next Dark Lady, will her Order of Merlin be revoked, or will she nefariously turn all the OMs against the country in the mass uprising? Will anyone be safe again? _

_ And what if she gets her hands Excalibur? _

* * *

“Oh, for the love of Jesus,” Hermione murmured.

Moments later, dimly across the Great Hall her shriek of outrage could be heard, and it cut through the breakfast chatter like, well, an ancient sword of legend.

_ “I ALREADY HAVE EXCALIBUR, YOU IDIOT!”  _

The Headmistress could be clearly heard to clear her throat.

Everyone in the Great Hall watched with rapt attention.

“Your Majesty, could you spare a moment?” the Headmistress politely asked. Everyone watched as Hermione Granger stood up, smoothed her school uniform, and walked up to the dias where the Head Table was.

“Yes, Headmistress. How can I help you?” they heard her say serenely, as if someone else had shrieked in outrage.

“Did you go and invade France this weekend?”

“No, Headmistress. I introduced Viktor to my grandmother in Provence. She’s a second-generation squib. We invited her to the wedding. And then Viktor worked in her rose garden.”

“I see. And do you have any plans to invade France at any point in the future?”

“No, Headmistress. I approve neither of war nor conquest. I shall not invade France, under any circumstance.”

“I see. Thank you for clearing that up for me, and I appreciate your time and candor.”

“You’re very welcome, Headmistress. Have a lovely breakfast.”

“You as well, Your Majesty.”

The moment Hermione Granger was seated, the whispering became a roar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eeek! It's up! It's available! My debut novel is now something you can own! ::screams like a fangirl, fwapping her hands about::
> 
> ::attempts to compose herself::
> 
> ::attempt failed, return to happy squeals::
> 
> [EDIT: since this is not an advertisement, there are no links to said novel. You'd just have to internet stalk my website to find it. But I know if you want it, you can do that. :) ]


	28. Chapter 25: Wherein Viktor and Hermione do not invade France.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the spirit of total honestly, they hadn’t before. But they certainly don’t in this chapter, either. Other chapters must see to themselves in regards to such tomfoolery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well! This is the last of the daily chapter updates because I've run out of contiguous material. But I'm rather proud of 220,000+ words worth of daily updates. There is plenty more to come, I just need to write a lot of in between bits before we get to bits of the story previously written. Taking a wild stab, I'd say let's imagine weekly updates, and sometimes more often.

_November 22, 199_  
_ _Hogwarts Castle_

_Dear Mum & Dad, _

_Oh, the drama._

_Narcissa and Minerva both are threatening to bring proceedings before the Wizengamot for libel because the idiots at the Daily Prophet have now started rumors that some will, of course, believe, that I have invaded France._

_I know. It’s patently ridiculous, but that’s the old-school wizarding press in this country. If they can’t find news, they’ll just make it up._

_Of course Viktor and I did go to France, but that was to go visit Granmere. I don’t know if I mentioned this before, but she’s actually only a second generation semi-magical (I’m not calling them squibs anymore), which means you, Mum, are a third generation. And the magic sustains till the fourth generation, which means that even if you had married someone with no magical ancestry at all, potions would still work on us and anti-muggle warding charms wouldn’t do all that much to us._

_Anyway, we had a wonderful lunch with Granmere and told her about us and the wedding and everything and it turns out that her mother had told her stories of the magical world in France, but just stories and so she sort of knew magic existed but thought it was a very isolated thing and certainly not that it was as genetic as it is._

_Viktor charmed her in his broken French and told her stories about growing up amid the roses and the dogs, and then she took us out into her garden and had Viktor render an opinion on why her roses aren’t flourishing. (He reported that the roses were very unhappy and needed to be sung to, and also the soil needed more of something I can’t remember.) So she went and got something from the kitchen, and a trowel, and Viktor dug in the dirt and sang softly in Bulgarian, I think, and I sat and watched, and really, it’s a side of him I’ve never seen. It was lovely and peaceful, and it made me think of what our lives might have been like had Narcissa never written me that letter. We might have ended up in a little cottage in Provence, or somewhere in the countryside of some country in Europe, and we would have had more cats and dogs than children, our cottage stuffed to the brim with books, each of us consulting as masters in our field, and Viktor, tending our rose garden each evening as I look on with a glass of wine or lemonade or somesuch._

_It was a nice thought. Not, as it turns out, the life we’re going to lead, though there will be a cottage, and roses, and very likely dogs, cats, masteries, books, and children, as well as wine, lemonade, and somesuch. But it will all likely have quite a different configuration, you know?_

_Instead what we get is this: the press mobbed us at the Portkey Station, because International Portkeys are apparently public knowledge in France and I guess the paparazzi regularly go after famous figures, so much so that we were also met by two French Aurors to ensure our protection and safety, and to make sure that the destination to which we had booked a bespoke side-along apparition remained a private matter so that Granmere wasn’t hounded. One Auror stayed to make sure there were no bribes going on at the station and the other came with us and our guide to ensure all was well. And so now the story is that we were taken in for questioning and were never seen again. Of course Viktor showed up promptly at practice this morning, as he always does, but his hotel is incredibly discreet, and of course the Headmistress has scared the hell out of the staff reporters at the Daily Prophet. We had an elf take us back home from Provence, and thence to study at Black Cottage where we had dinner, and then returned to Hogwarts. So of course we weren’t seen again._

_Idiots._

_Meanwhile Luna has suggested I do an interview with her for The Quibbler that could outline my thoughts about war, peace, diplomacy, and my hope for the future. I’ll check in with the rest of the advisors, of course, but I’m inclined to do it. I think I might also start using the different terminology for the status of magic within people, for I can use it with you, but if I start calling squibs semi-magical people in public no one will know what I’m talking about. But I’ve got to begin somewhere._

_And now I must go assure the Queen I’m not up to utter silliness. Stupid reporters. Stupid news outlet. Stupid fake news. Thank heavens she gets the Prophet a day late._

_Thanks for letting me vent._

_Love,  
_ _Hermione_

* * *

_November 22, 199_  
_ _Hogwarts Castle_

_Dear Elizabeth,_

_Just a quick note to assure you that I have not broken my vows of fealty to you, I have not invaded France, and the Daily Prophet is being threatened with a libel suit in the Wizengamot from both Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry as well as the House of Black._

_My Grandmother who lives in Provence, however, will be attending my wedding and coronation, and while I’m not entirely sure it was worth it, I am pleased about that at last. And she loves Viktor. But then, most people do._

_Still in your service,  
_ _Hermione_

* * *

_November 23, 199_  
_ _Malfoy Manor_

_Dear Hermione,_

_I wanted to set your mind at ease and tell you what Augusta and I have accomplished in the last forty-eight hours. Augusta acted in her role as Convener of the Board of Governors of Hogwarts, and of course I as your Head of House. The Daily Prophet has agreed to certain concessions, in lieu of being brought before the Wizengamot in what would certainly be a very public trial and covered by the brand new Daily Quibble, a trial they will certainly lose and which will be far more wide-reaching then they could ever have imagined, for I retain proof that my former husband had bribed the editors to suppress some news and skew others and I would bring it to bear and so thoroughly wipe them from the face of the wizarding world and, alas, I shall save my proofs for another day._

_First concession: remove Reginald Paltry from the position of reporter of any kind._

_Second concession: revise the standard retraction policy immediately and apply it to the retraction they will print in this case; henceforth retractions must be in-kind, meaning that the size, position, and flair of the offending and incorrect article must be matched by the size, position, and flair of the rectraction. No more retractions on the back page in tiny print and only vaguely and obliquely referencing the salient points of the mistaken reporting. Also, the retractions must include apologies to all parties offended, and must thoroughly address every single falsehood that was written. The retraction must also go to print within two days of receiving verification of the incorrectness of the original reporting._

_Third concession: they acknowledge that the original article was intentionally malicious, full of misleading information and base supposition, and will print a full retraction in tomorrow’s edition. I expect they will scapegoat that idiot Paltry when in fact he only interned in the reign of insanity made most obvious by Rita Skeeter’s reporting style. They produced monsters and then were surprised when they turned out monstrous._

_I will say, we have done excellent work these past two days, Augusta and I, and I honestly do not think we would have worked quite so well together had we not been brought together by you. Thank you for that, my dear. Thank you very much._

_Yours,  
_ _Narcissa_

* * *

_RETRACTION: HRM HERMIONE JUST VISITING GRANDMOTHER  
_ _Scurrilous B.T. Whittering, Editor-in-Chief_

_It is with regret that the Daily Prophet informs its faithful reading public that the article entitled ‘Hermione to Invade France?’ that was accidentally printed in the 22 November issue of this august print media was sadly not to our sterling standard of excellence and truth in reporting. We at the Daily Prophet humbly apologize for any inconvenience this has produced for HRM Hermione, Mr. Krum, the Ely Inferi, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the House of Black, the House of Pendragon, the House of Windsor, the Bulgarian House of Krum, the House of Potter, the House of Weasley, the House of Longbottom, and the sovereign nation of France, both the non-magical government and the magical legislature and prime minister._

_In the spirit of truth in reporting, the Daily Prophet would like to make clear several erroneous points that were made in the accidentally printed article so that our faithful reading public may be put fully in the know._

_Mr. Krum is a fine, world class seeker, and the Inferi are lucky to have him. He did not lose the entire game previously referenced on his own, but rather followed the wise instruction of his head coach._

_The host of new policies enacted by Hogwarts, that august institution we all hold fondly in our hearts, has been made to insure the safety and well-being of all who live therein. As the Castle herself was involved in the Final Battle, many, many efforts have been made by the tireless Board of Governors, Headmistress, and Deputy Headmistress to help the Castle and her inhabitants heal in safety, and can we not all agree that the children deserve to be protected? Many of our older children and very youngest adults are war veterans and deserve our respect and our forbearance, not our censure._

_As the portkey travel system and those who use it is all public knowledge in France many style reporters and photojournalists often congregate when famous people are expected to travel through an area, and sometimes the French Aurors are kindly deployed to ensure peace is kept and the private lives of citizens remain private. HRM Hermione and Mr. Krum were not taken into custody as was accidentally assumed, but rather given a secure escort to their destination, the home of Her Majesty’s grandmother._

_It has been confirmed that Her Majesty is in possession of Excalibur, the legendary sword of King Arthur and all subsequent Pendragons. It has further been confirmed that in her role as Pendragon Regent, HRM Hermione has already and in private sworn oaths of fealty and service to HRM Elizabeth II, sovereign ruler of this blessed isle. Finally, we at the Daily Prophet are very clear that HRM Hermione has never had any intention to invade any country, up to and including the sovereign nation of France, and HRM Hermione did not do so on the 21st of November._

_Good people, we are not at war, and we haven’t been since Thomas Riddle, the self-styled Lord Voldemort, was vanquished, in part due to the valor, heroism, and self-sacrifice of Her Royal Majesty Hermione, the Queen Regent of Avalon, the Viscountess Black, Order of Merlin (1st Class), for which we, as a nation, are profoundly grateful._

* * *

_November 24, 199_  
_ _Hogwarts Castle_

_Dear Elizabeth,_

_Good evening! It’s a lovely day in Scotland, considering that it is November, and I have had a delightful day. I get up at five for coffee and first breakfast, then go for a run with my suitemates, then a wash and a brush before second breakfast. Being Wednesday, I had an early meeting with my Parliamentarian Tutor (he sends his regards, and the enclosed), then it’s NEWT level Charms and Transfiguration, studying, lunch, NEWT level Potions and Defence Against the Dark Arts, and a break before Dueling Club, which as it turns out Harry was dead set against restarting with me. He never wants to fight again. I don’t blame him. I’m just not sure I’m going to have that luxury. And so Ginny and I have convinced our Charms professor to supervise our Dueling Club, which has been excellent. There is a small period of time when we pair off and practice dueling in a non-lethal fashion. But really, I’m most excited about the fact that we’ve convinced Professor Flitwick to teach us wandless, wordless magic, which is generally either something one picks up on one’s own, something taught by one’s parents, or something one gets a Charms or Transfiguration mastery in order to do._

_Of course I could have just waited until after graduation and have Viktor teach me, but when have I ever waited to learn something tomorrow that I could possibly learn today? Never. Never, Elizabeth. Other things I will shove to the side, but not often my intellectual curiosity._

_Of course I can do a single solitary charm in a wandless, wordless fashion, though I usually keep that quite to myself, for tactical advantage, and to refrain from showing off. But I can do an accio, that is, the summoning spell. Mostly because there is a spell to disarm one’s appointment and I so abhorred the idea of being without my wand (which I was several times anyway last year, and then it was snapped, so oh well) that this one spell came to me easily. But that doesn’t mean I understood the theory behind it, but I do now!_

_A wand allows a user of magic to follow the rules and get something like the expected outcome, depending on how well they’ve followed the rules, how well they are paired with their wands, and if their magic is present beyond a certain minimum. No simple spells require more than following the rules exactly, being a witch or wizard, and having a decently paired wand. But the more complex spells are not just complex in their rules, but also requiring a certain specific focus or concentration. The Patronus spell is a perfect example. To manifest a patronus, the caster has to hold on clearly and tightly to a memory or thought that brings them pure joy. A Patronus, properly cast, will hold off a Dementor, whom you may recall sucks all joy out of a person’s mind and heart just by being near by, shortly before it leans in and sucks out a person’s soul, leaving only a hollow shell that is technically alive. The Patronus is, if you will, the unbreakable joy, and it feeds us with calmness and more joy, in an upward spiral that contrasts the Dementor. Oh, but just try and cast one when the Dementor is already nearby and you may discover a new kind of hell._

_Enter wandless, wordless magic. For even the simplest of spells you have to have absolute focus, a complete mesh of mind, will, and heart, which explains why magical children often manifest what we call accidental magic when they are hurt or scared. It seems accidental to us, but it was an explosion of focused magic following their absolute need. One has to reach into one’s magical core and for a brief moment in time want only that. Often spells have to be learned with wands first so that one can get the feel of it, but after, any spell can be learned in this other manner, it’s just about dedication and focus. In fact, one of the hardest transfiguration spells, after a lengthy ritual, must be performed, and for the first time, in an entirely wandless and wordless manner - the animagus spell, which is the one which turns the caster into an animal. Which animal, they don’t get to choose, though there is a single solitary instance of a witch back in the twenties in America getting her choice, but apparently a year of metaphysical meditation was involved, and personally, I have no desire to discover that my inner animal is a cockroach or something, regardless of whether or not I end up learning to turn into one. Also, I’m not sure what the point is, exactly. It’s not like becoming an animal will help me in my work, or to help support my friends. I have met animagi, of course. You may remember that Sirius Black was one. The Headmistress is one, as well._

_Ah well. But I was saying about my lovely, lovely day. Dinner was amusing, as it always is when the two little Hufflepuff first years we befriended on the train come and join us. Their innocence is so beautiful, Elizabeth. And sometimes an unhelpful part of me wants to shake them and tell them to wake up and pay attention to the world, but at the same time I want to protect them from the horror of just how awful people can be when they cease caring about others. And wouldn’t it be lovely if they could grow up without anyone trying to kill them? If they never had to dodge the killing curse, or block a curse that would eviscerate them, or worry that if they brought the wall down and killed the ones trying to kill them, if other people would get hurt, too?_

_And yet I would hate for them to be unprepared, should the need arise._

_Well, despite this maudlin turn, it’s been a lovely day. I studied all I needed to before dinner, I have now nearly finished this letter to you, and I shall go and join my friends before bath and bed where I will, God willing, sleep well in the arms of Morpheus._

_Good night, and God bless._

_Love,  
_ _Hermione_

* * *

_November 25, 199_  
_ _Buckingham Palace_

_Dear Hermione,_

_I am glad to hear that you had such a beautiful day, and I am glad to hear a little more about how magic works. How common is wandless, wordless magic practice, would you say?_

_I have been reading the books you sent. Thank you very much for them. I admit I opened the Quidditch book first, believing it to be perhaps somewhat of a light read and I am glad to see I was not wrong._

_It has been a rather trying time for me, I will admit. Half the world is afraid all our computers will crash on January 1st, and the other half seems to be looking forward to the anarchy. I was convinced for various reasons not to have the length of time away with family in Balmoral that I normally do, usually from July to October, really, after a week or so in Holyroodhouse, but I’m feeling the lack of it and it’s not yet December. I shall be glad to get away to Sandringham for the holidays, and Charles, Pembroke, and I have already put our heads together to consider the best way to explain our absence over the new year. At least it will not be a matter of leaving one of the official residences and having to make excuses to be unaccompanied by guards. Of course, Philip is another matter. Still. He said long ago he wanted to know nothing about state secrets he wasn’t meant to know and I have taken him at his word. We shall see how well he manages, and if he has decided to change his mind._

_Your friend,  
_ _Elizabeth_

* * *

Hermione relaxed with a deep sigh, leaned back against Viktor in the hot, steamy water in the bathtub in the corner of their suite, and accioed her book. She was finished with  Henry V  and had moved on to a reread of  Good Omens  , written by two of her favorite authors. Viktor had moved on to  Pride and Prejudice  and had a small dictionary in English at hand which he sometimes paused to consult.

It had become an utterly beautiful moment in their days, this time to pause and read together. And Viktor had one rather distracting tendency during this time.

When he wasn’t turning pages, when he wasn’t looking up a word, his fingers idly stroked her. Not below the water. Dry books with dry pages required dry fingers and dry hands. But above the water, her shoulders, her arms, her neck. Sometimes he leaned in and nuzzled her head softly, still totally concentrating.

Not that she could at that point.

But it was better now, so much better than at first. Now she was almost, almost inured to it.

Of course, by the time they were in bed, she was also quite ready to play a bit before she slept.

And after the first time Viktor warmed the tub she knew they had about five minutes left. Thermodynamics were so predictable in that way. Hermione closed her book and held it on the side of the tub, Viktor following suit soon after.

“How’s the book?” she asked.

He took hers and put it on the table on top of his own. “Good,” he remarked. “I like Mr. Bennet. I do not like Mrs. Bennet, who seems quite an obtuse woman, and I find both the eldest and youngest daughters to be annoying.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow he could not see, sinking her arms in the water and feeling his come around her, touching her.

“Really. Lydia I understand. I think she’s meant to be annoying. Tell me why you find Jane Bennet annoying.”

Viktor sighed. “It is small, perhaps, and I do understand it was a different time with different rules of behavior. But still I cannot like the way she does not allow herself to feel. It is clear she has emotions and preferences, but she is bound, as if she has to make up for the rudeness of her younger three sisters. And I understand why she might feel that way, but I cannot like it. It will make for an even harder life later than she has now, for she will keep doing it with those around her, wherever she is.”

“Mmm, yes. I think she must feel a lot of pressure, as the eldest. Certainly it’s something that Lizzie points out, though I don’t know if you’ve gotten there, yet.”

“Yes, I have.

“And also I do not like the idea that gentlewomen cannot work or be properly educated. Then it leaves few options for them and their families and before you know it we have a downward spiral of society as we focus on entirely the wrong things and keep our focus there.” Viktor shook his head. “This annoys me greatly.”

“Are you not liking the book, then?” Hermione asked with a smile.

“Mm, no. I do like it. I particularly appreciate Lizzie Bennet’s lightness of being. She does not seem to take too much seriously, and this is a form of protective armor, I have found. While I am not at all like this, I appreciate it in others. She reminds me of your friend Luna, in that way. And you? How are you liking your book? You have read this one before, yes?”

Hermione suddenly wondered if Viktor would have an issue with her book. He was, as it turned out, extremely religious.

“Um, yes. I have. I quite like it. It’s, um, narrated by God, and is the story, well, I suppose it’s the story of how even though people may be stuck in a sense of their own roles and what they ought to do and so possibly make quite bad and quite disastrous decisions based on what they think they ought to do, they can, in fact, choose again. Choose differently. Choose based on love, really. And so it’s a story about how a few handfuls of these sorts of people, and a dog, choose again, and better this time, and end up saving the world.”

“Yes, this sounds very reasonable to me. After  Wyrd Sisters  and  Dune , perhaps you will let me read your book?”

Hermione’s eyes darted reflexively around her room. “You are always welcome to read any book I have, Viktor. This one… Well, I should warn you, perhaps. It, um, it plays heavily with some prominent Christian themes in ways that are not always palatable to… Christians with no sense of humor.”

“Give me an example.”

May as well plunge head first. “The two main characters are an angel and a demon who have been friends more or less since the Garden of Eden.”

Viktor chuckled. “Well. All demons were once angels, and the mystics say they will be again, one day. This one, perhaps, takes the faster route. Good for him. Or her. Or it? Which would be best to say, Myon?”

“Hmm. I’m not sure gender is such a thing, but it presents as male, more or less, so let’s go with him.”

Hermione smiled as she stretched and accioed her towel. She stepped out of the tub and looked back at him, relishing the fact that he took her breath away.

She was staring, but then again, so was he. Their gazes held as he summoned his own towel, got out of the bath, toweled off, then flung it away to hang neatly on the wall.

She smirked. “I really want you to teach me that spell.”

He smirked right back. “More than you want orgasm?”

Hermione grimaced and whined a bit. The thing was, she’d wanted to know that spell for a while. It was so damned _cool._

Viktor could barely contain his laughter. “You do, don’t you?” he asked, and the laughter leaked through his words.

“Ooh,” she whinged a bit. “Ooh, its a really hard _choice.”_

Widely grinning, Viktor circled around her and then pressed against her, his hands on her hips. Then he reached out, and his wand snapped into his left hand.

“First, you learn spell,” he said, and she could tell he was still grinning. She could hear it. “Then you practice making it wordless. Then you practice making it wandless. This is how Mama teaches me, and this is how I will teach you.”

Hermione scoffed. “I’m fairly certain this is not exactly how your mother taught you, Viktor,” she said, arching her back and pushing her naked bum into his naked groin.

He laughed and then she felt his lips on her neck, his free arm around her waist. “Minor differences, only,” he assured her.

“Coed naked spellcasting,” Hermione murmured. “Well, it’s one way to learn.”

Viktor demonstrated the spell, hanging up the bathmat. He explained that it would be backwards for her, as he was left handed. 

Hermione had him demonstrate the wand movement alone three more times as she watched intensely. “Is there a bit of a flick in the middle, there?”

“Yes, just before the smooth zig-zag upwards.” He demonstrated it again.

“Right.” She summoned her wand, but this wand never quite snapped properly into her hand, with the handle in her palm, and faced in the proper direction, not like her old wand. This time it came straight at her hand, handle first, blessedly, but she fumbled it and dropped it to the floor. She sighed and looked down at the recalcitrant thing.

“Do you need a new wand?” Viktor asked, his tone confused. “That was very strange.”

Hermione sighed again. “I suppose I’ve been putting it off. I got this one through conquest, as mine was snapped. And it’s been working well enough. Most of the time.” Then she added on a whisper, “But not like my old wand.”

“Myon, go get a new wand. Do it tomorrow.”

Hermione sighed, again. “Yes, I know, but in the vault there was this whole trunkful of wands, and I wondered if one of those might work for me, but it’s just such a chore, and I should probably make an appointment before I go in hauling a hundred wands into the shop, and I just-”

“Myon, stop. Please. You are making something so simple into something so complex.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, leaving her wand on the floor.

Viktor accioed their robes, and put hers over her shoulders before he put his on. “Come,” he said as he walked out into the suite’s common room, picking up her time-turner from her dressing table, checking the clock and then putting the chain around her neck as well as his. He gave them a single extra hour and the room didn’t shift much at all with the reversal of time as Hermione did up her robe properly. Viktor then led them back into Hermione’s study.

“Mory,” Viktor called, tucking the pendant into his robe.

“Yes, Master Krum?” the old elf said as he arrived.

“Do you know where the trunk full of wands is, at Pendragon Castle?”

“Yes, Master Krum.”

“Will you please bring it here, for us?”

“Yes, Master Krum,” the old elf said, grinning at his own little joke.

Mory snapped his fingers and it was there.

“Thank you very much. Have a good night, Mory,” Viktor said.

“You as well, Master Krum, Mistress Pendragon,” the old elf said with a smile, and then he was gone.

“Right.” Viktor picked up the trunk and walked over to the Round Table, sat it on the surface and then opened the trunk, letting the lid rest hinged fully open. He moved a chair out of his way, hopped up next to the trunk and rested his feet on the chair. “Go on,” he urged her. “Pick a wand.”

“But how will I know for certain--”

“Myon! You did this at eleven! Knowing nothing! Just. Pick. Up. A. Wand. Hold it in your hand for _ten seconds_ and see if it likes you. Do it over and over again until you find one that likes you, or run out of wands. If you break something, I fix it.”

Hermione sighed. Well, this was one way to do it. Perhaps she didn’t have to have all the wands weighed before she picked one. If she found one that liked her, she could take it in and have it weighed tomorrow, she supposed, and if she didn’t find one she could go purchase one tomorrow, instead.

One wand after another, in the silence of her study with Viktor looking on and leaning one arm against the trunk, she held one wand after another, sometimes breaking things - those wands she put down immediately - sometimes sort of physically revolted, somehow, by the feel of the wood in her hand, and sometimes nothing at all would happen. All in all she didn’t hold each one for as long as ten seconds. Often she didn’t need to. It was nothing, and nothing, and nothing, until she picked up a rough-hewn wand that was sort of short but quite pleasant to the touch. And when she had it out of the trunk and fully in her grasp there was a soft light all around her, and a feeling that was like the warming charm, but without the muscles of her arm seizing up and the curse being activated again.

“Try your patronus,” Viktor said quietly.

Hermione closed her eyes momentarily, pulling up the memory of Viktor laying on top of her, his eyes full of hope, full of love as he said, _‘You will wear my ring, then?’_ “Expecto patronum,” she breathed, holding tight to Viktor’s love for her, his devotion.

The glow was so bright she winced.

Her dog galumphed around the room before going over to Viktor, rolling on her back, wriggling a bit and waiting as a dog would, for affection.

Hermione looked at Viktor and grinned, still basking in his love for her.

“Thank you, Viktor,” she said, smiling.

“You’re welcome, Myon.”

They put all the wands back in the trunk and shut it, leaving it on the table. Her patronus was still going strong as he took her in his arms and kissed her thoroughly. It was still going strong when he stopped, looked over at it, then at her, he brow furrowed.

“I don’t know whether to be impressed or insulted.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “My happy thought is how much you love me.”

Viktor smirked. “That makes my decision easier.” He kissed her again, nibbling at her lips. “I wonder,” he said against her lips, “how long,” another kiss, “you could keep that up,” another kiss, “while we had sex,” another kiss, “and if there would be,” another kiss, “any difference,” another kiss, “between maintaining it,” another kiss, “during something gentle,” another kiss, “or something,” another kiss, “quite vigorous.”

His hand was inside her robe now, his fingertips trailing up and down her sides as his lips kissed her neck.

Hermione smirked. “I bet I can keep it up for longer than you can,” she said, her voice accidentally becoming sing-song toward the end of her taunt.

“So very competitive, Myon,” he said just before he bit her neck.

Hermione gasped, but her patronus did not dim. “Well,” she gasped. “Are you up for the challenge or not, Viktor? Perhaps we should just go to bed and snuggle.”

“Mm,” he said and when he straightened up his grin was unlike any she had quite seen before. One eyebrow quirked upwards and a crooked half-smile, and _sweet Jesus_ if he had ever looked at her like that in former years she would have fallen into bed with him instantly.

_Instantly._

He had her by the hand and was silently pulling her back to the bedroom as he walked backwards, her Patronus by his side as if it were, in fact, a faithful dog. He still had that look on his face, the devilish one. Finally when they were back in the bedroom he let go of her hands and cast his Patronus.

And now there were two gigantic glowing dogs in the room.

Still in her bathrobe, Hermione was maneuvered to the bed. When she went to take it off, he stopped her. 

“And have you win when I stop to cast a warming charm for you? No, Myon. Keep it on until I make you so hot you can’t stand it any longer.”

Hermione grinned. It hadn’t been her plan, per se, but she would have accepted that as a win regardless.

Still, now was not the time to let Viktor dictate what position they started in, as it would inevitably involve several orgasms for her while he held off. Totally unacceptable.

Hermione sunk to her knees on the fluffy white carpet next to her bed and pulled Viktor’s robe open. She nuzzled her head into his thighs as her hands cupped his balls. He was half hard and getting firmer and at least at this point it was still so easy to keep a small part of her mind totally clear on how much Viktor loved her.

As she licked his cock and stroked his balls she idly wondered what would happen if they both held out. 

A tie? 

A rematch for another night? 

Best two out of three?

Hermione grinned as Viktor groaned, “ _Oh, fuck, yes, Myon. Ungh, harder.”_ She glanced up to see him with his head tipped back, his arm braced on the tall post at the corner of the bed. 

“Mm, Myon. I can’t wait to be inside of you,” he whispered and Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. He was clearly fighting back, and fighting dirty. At this point she was totally hung up on the idea of a penetrative orgasm. She could come practically just by thinking about it.

“I want us to come with my cock buried deep inside of your luscious garden,” he gasped out. “And your tongue thrust between my lips. I want to make you come by sucking on your breasts, by sucking on your clit, sucking and biting and licking your neck with my fingers deep in your pussy.”

Hermione was almost ready to give up the competition if it meant she could come. She thought about it for only half a second before stopping what she was doing and getting back on her feet. She pushed him toward the bed lightly.

“Lie down in the center, you sexy thing. I want to try something.” They’d never tried a sixty-nine before, and clearly it was time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ::hugs:: Thank you for reading and loving this story, and thank you to all those who have commented - you know I love talking with you, and thank you to all those who have recommended this story to others. I can always tell when you do because the number of kudos I receive/people reading the story increases by an order of magnitude. ::hugs:: Thank you.


	29. Chapter 26: Wherein invitations are sent.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All sorts of preparations are being made, really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have an Easter gift for you! I managed to finish this chapter yesterday, so I have a chapter update for you today... and tomorrow. It's not exactly a basket full of chocolate, but in this chapter I promise I didn't fade to black.
> 
> So that's like chocolate. :)

_ November 26, 199_  
_ _ Hogwarts Castle _

_ Dear Mum & Dad, _

_ I had another lovely time out shopping with Ginny and Luna, and I just don’t know what to say, Mum. I know I never enjoyed shopping with you and looked on it as a chore, and of course now I’d do almost anything to go shopping with you again. But I took each of them shopping for their birthdays and the other one tagged along, and we had lunch out and everything. Made a day of it. And each time I got something for myself (under Ginny’s watchful eye, don’t worry, I still don’t dress myself, I know I can’t be trusted, and I’m still going by the ‘everything has to match with everything’ rule) but I think the difference is that I was really there for other people. I mean, there wasn’t a huge list of things we had to get for me. I only had two things on my list, though I did get a few more than that, but somehow that meant there was less pressure for me. I mean, armed with Ginny and Luna, finding a cute little black dress with which to impress Viktor was easy, and armed with a letter of introduction from Elizabeth, walking into the master leatherworker’s shop with Excalibur wrapped in a cloth (that I had just pulled out of my purse, but they didn’t need to know that) was… well, it still wasn’t easy, but it certainly wasn’t as bad as it could have been. And most importantly, he can do me a scabbard in four weeks without a problem, and it will match my current belt that Augusta gave me. _

_ But oh, the shoes we ordered! Mum, they’re deadly weapons, I swear it. They’re the stiletto heel of the wizarding world, Mother. Not so high. Not so pointy. So much sharper. Infinitely stronger. Mum, if we had had Dragon Teeth Heels when I was on the run with Harry and Ron I could have killed any number of horcruxes with my designer footwear. Of course, sometimes we did actually have to run, and I’m not sure that’s any easier in heels made out of various bits of dragon than in heels made in an entirely non-magical fashion. At least, not on some surfaces. Well, no, that might not be true. I’ll need to do some testing on this, actually. I’ll report back when my first pair of shoes arrives. _

_ But for each pair of shoes we also ordered a simple clutch in the same dragonhide that the cobbler makes - he has one style and one style only, but he’s willing to work with the hide which not everyone is, apparently. Simple clutch made out of one roughly square piece of leather, folded like an envelope and sewn together. Then he puts a simple cloth lining in it which is so important because dragonhide is totally charm-resistant, so if you want expansion spells, you need to do them on the lining. And of course we want expansion spells. _

_ Of course this is one of Ginny’s side projects, but she pointed out something absolutely stunning that I hadn’t even thought of before: If you have a very expensive bag, like the dragonhide clutch, and it’s not something you use every day, but say it goes with the shoes, then on that bag you put a basic expansion spell on the lining, just giving you perhaps a bit more than a cubic foot, but then you actually sew a few things into the lining. A loop with some spells to hold your wand. A catch to hold your other everyday expanded bag which has all your basic essentials and all your emergency supplies, and if you’ve got to put something big in your purse, then you open the tiny clutch, and hold open your inner purse like it’s a special, albeit removable compartment, and you’re done! The simple expansion spell is super easy, and the sewing and other charms are fairly basic, even if you do have to do them all before you seal the piece. But Mum, it’s a little piece of brilliance, I tell you. One of those simple things that is so obvious once it’s been pointed out, but so lacking in presence In the world. I tell you, Ginny is a genius in this way, she really is. I’m glad I’ve got a ten percent share in her nascent company. _

_ Oh, I almost forgot. There was something else I got while I was out. I don’t think I’ve mentioned, but we made friends with the most adorable Hufflepuff first years on the train. Both of their birthdays were earlier in the year, so I went to find something for both of them. I wanted it to be a little fun and a lot useful. So I got each of them a catch-all bag of various wizarding candies and chocolates, and then I went back to the bag store and got two very sturdy leather belt bags in different designs and different shades. And then I took them home and charmed the hell out of them. Expanding lip, twenty cubic feet of space, the fragile float charm that keeps delicate things off to the side, emergency eject if they fall in, and the soft stack to allow books to keep their pages unrumpled. And then I emplaced the candy in the bags and wrapped them nicely. When I gave them over I promised to teach them the summoning spell and while one of them was definitely more interested in the candy than the bag, I know the gifts were well appreciated. _

_ Luna’s gift was shoes and a matching clutch. Though admittedly, we all had shoes ordered, and matching clutches, and they’ll all be done in time for the Yule Ball. _

_ Oh Mum, I’m going to a Yule Ball with Viktor. Again. And this time I’m not going to end it hiding on the stairs crying my eyes out because Ron is a complete git and Harry couldn’t bear to tell him to go to hell. Then again, neither could I, so I shouldn’t judge. This time,  _ _ this time _ _ we are going to dance the last dance, and then go look at the stars while we (carefully) walk through the rose garden. (The roses one doesn’t really have to look out for. It’s the couples who think they’ve got a private moment to snog one might trip over.) And this time he won’t have to retire to his ship, confused and disappointed. And this time I won’t have to trudge back up to the Gryffindor Tower in abject misery, looking like a desolate raccoon. This time, I sincerely hope, there will be a happy ending all around. _

_ At the very least, I will be in a gorgeous dress and will have deadly heels. _

_ Because I know you’ll want to know, I’m wearing Narcissa’s dress and we’ve been experimenting with different colors. Haven’t settled on one yet. But there will be a photographer again this year and this time I won’t be stupid about it, I promise. _

_ Love you,  
_ _ Hermione _

* * *

_ The Venerable Bulgarian House of Krum  
_ _ The Learnéd House of Granger  
_ _ The Noble English House of Black  
_ _ The Ancient & Royal Welsh House of Pendragon  
_ _ The Honorable English House of Potter  
_ _ The Ancient English House of Peverill _

_ join _

_ on December 31, 199_  
_ _ at three in the afternoon  
_ _ at the standing stones  
_ _ of the Pendragon Castle  
_ _ near Crickhowell, Wales. _

_ You have been called forth  
_ _ in order to bear witness. _

> * * *

_ RSVP  
_ _ by December 10, 199_  
_ _ to Madam Ginerva Potter, Hogwarts Castle  
_ _ and please indicate number attending. _

_ * _

_ A champagne toast will follow the handfasting.  
_ _ A full reception will follow the coronation. _

_ * _

_ All wedding guests will be accommodated at the castle  
_ _ for the duration of the festival. _

_ * _

_ Wizarding guests are invited to use the castle floo,  
_ _ “Pendragon Castle, Wales.”  
_ _ Non-wizarding guests will have transportation provided. _

* * *

Fleur smiled at breakfast as she opened the beautiful cream colored envelope that bore Harry’s seal. She wordlessly handed the top card over to her husband as she read the details described on the second card. They had already agreed to stay for Christmas except for a brief visit to her in-laws the day after Christmas and a brief luncheon with her parents the day before.

She smiled even more broadly than before and nodded, when Bill asked if she would respond for them. And then they discussed ideas for wedding gifts.

* * *

Andromeda looked at the seal of a coat of arms she hadn’t ever seen before but it didn’t take much to put two and two together.

She had just received a letter from Harry Potter. Or possibly, she supposed, his new wife, the youngest Weasley.

She opened the envelope and smiled grimly at the contents. Her recent reinstatement into the House of Black hadn’t changed much, except that she had gone and had Teddy’s name changed, adding Black as a second middle name.

Andy hadn’t seriously considered attending the festival, either. Why? Teddy was too young to remember it and under no circumstances would she attend something that made her husband feel like a second class citizen.

Still, she read the short enclosed letter.

_ November 28, 199_  
_ _ Hogwarts Castle _

_ Madam Tonks, _

_ If it would please you to be escorted by elf to Pendragon Castle with your husband and grandson, Tricks, son of Kreacher of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black will be honored to be at your service henceforth, and the service of your honored husband. _

_ Your servant,  
_ _ Madam Potter _

Your honored husband.

Andromeda Tonks stared at those words for a long time, weeping.

* * *

Mrs. Berhe took from the stack of usual bills and circulars a beautiful cream-colored envelope that had an actual purple wax seal on it, though she had no way of recognizing the impression in it. It must have given the sorting machines at the Royal Mail a bit of a trial, that. As she fingered the still-closed letter, she wondered.

But surely if it was from a witch or wizard it would have been delivered by owls?

She carefully opened the envelope without breaking the seal and saw within two stiff cards and one sheet of lined note paper, the sort they had sent Negash off to school with in September. She read that one first.

_ MUMMY! _

_ Hermione’s invited me to her wedding! Well, actually, all of us, you and me and Dad and Elsbet, and we can stay over at her house from the 30th to the 1st and go to the festival and everything! Please say we can go! Please, please, please, please, please! There’s going to be quidditch and shakespeare and carnivals and everything, oh please convince Dad that we should go. _

_ Love,  
_ _ Negash _

Mrs. Berhe grinned. They had already entered their names into the lottery specifically for squibs and muggle parents, but they weren’t going to tell Negash or Elsbet unless they’d gotten picked. She would have to write a letter to the Quibbler and let them know their names could be removed.

* * *

Dudley checked his mailbox at Uni dutifully, though usually there wasn’t much there except notes from professors and occasionally returned papers, and sometimes a care package from Mum. This time there was a fancy envelope with a wax seal that would have given his father hives. But the rest of the piece of mail was totally normal. Well, there was no return address. And the ink was purple.

But it’s not like it was covered in stamps. Just a single first class one in the appropriate corner.

As Dudley stuffed the returned papers into his backpack and got a move on to his next class, he considered the front and back of the envelope. Really, the wax and the ink matched, which was a bit of a classy touch his father would never be able to appreciate, largely because his father had no class.

It was a hard lesson for Dudley to have learned, but he had.

He studied the imprint on the wax seal as he walked across the quad. Two lines crossed over a thing. Was that a pot? Were the two lines wands? Was this…? No. Harry never used a seal and he never mentioned he had an actual coat of arms.

Dudley was being silly.

He opened the letter carefully - it was so nice he didn’t like to rip into it - and read… was this a wedding invitation? He looked at the second card. Definitely a wedding invitation. Then he looked at the half sheet of cheaper paper folded twice that almost fell out of the envelope when he took the nicer cards out.

_ D, _

_ Do come. I’ll have someone come pick you up at 9 AM on the 30th and we’ll get you back on the 1st. I’d come myself, but I’m going to be on duty doing something or other, though I don’t know what yet. Gin’s organizing the wedding, since we just eloped, but I’d like you to meet her. I’ve been told often enough that I look the spitting image of my father, except for my eyes, but from what I see in the pictures, Gin looks an awful lot like Mum, which I suppose makes sense because I had a chance to look into my geneology, and Mum and Petunia are very distant cousins of the wizarding house of Weasley. Which makes Gin and I something like 14th cousins. I’ll see if I can’t book your extremely removed Uncle Arthur Weasley to come pick you up. _

_ Do rsvp to Gin,  
_ _ H _

Well, that’s a detail he didn’t feel the need to share with his parents. Ever. Not that he would be telling them anything about this, except maybe that a friend from school had invited him to stay for New Years. They’d pester him, but he needn’t mention it until the last moment and if he could just get them out of the house on the 30th in the morning, it would all just be tickety-boo.

If.

Dudley started considering what disasters he might be able to create that would afford him both parents vacating the property for at least ten minutes.

* * *

_ November 29, 199_  
_ _ Hogwarts Castle _

_ Dear Mum & Dad, _

_ Well, I hosted my second family dinner last night and this time Viktor and I invited Narcissa and Draco, though apparently Draco and Luna aren’t far enough along for her to accompany him. Still, I’m holding out hope for them. I think this new Draco I’m becoming acquainted with would benefit greatly by her, and I think possibly he might be worthy of her if he continues to grow into his responsibilities, which it seems he is continuing to do. _

_ I had warned everyone on the invitation that it would be an entirely casual affair and specifically mentioned that I would be wearing jeans. _

_ Let me tell you. Sofia and Narcissa both rocked denim jeans in a way I thought I’d never witness. I’ve got a lot to live up to over here, Mum. _

_ Tampy and Pampy catered, which was interesting as they’re still quite upset with each other, but I did ask each one privately if they thought they could work well enough with their twin in order to do this and each one privately assured me they could. I’m trying so hard with them, Mum. I don’t want them to alienate each other and while I’m trying not to meddle I’m quite afraid that if they don’t come to a peaceful place soon it will be too late. Pampy has privately confided to me that she’s inclined to accept Mory’s suit, though she hasn’t firmly decided yet. We’ve discussed what will happen when he dies sooner rather than later, comparatively speaking. Apparently mated elves have a ten year mourning period, but after that they are free to take another mate and Pampy doesn’t find the thought of being in mourning for ten years at all prohibitive. It seems perfectly normal to her, so I just tried to soak up as much information as I could about her culture. _

_ Apparently status doesn’t convey on her, just because he’s Head Elf, and there are no requirements for her to be anything other than Pampy of the House of Black, but they will have to decide before the birth of children which house they will belong to. Apparently if there are twins they often go each in a different direction, which means after they come out of the nursery, they enter their designated house for training. But given Pampy’s own situation, they might decide to keep any twins together. Sometimes the humans weigh in on this, sometimes they don’t and either way I’m fairly certain the choice always lies with the elves in question, which makes sense. I mean, it’s their children. _

_ But anyway, dinner was excellent. I had worked up a menu with the Twins of traditional British fare served family style and it was lovely. Everyone was quite relaxed, and you know how difficult it is to fake that, so I trust it was true, even for the Malfoys, and we spent the loveliest time just laughing and trading stories. Ginny told stories about her brother Charlie’s first year as a dragon keeper, and those were particularly good. I think you would have loved it, and I wish you could have been there.  _

_ After dinner we walked on the beach again and Sofia and Narcissa strolled arm in arm ahead of the rest clearly having private conversation and possibly plotting to take over the world, but in the best way possible. If they ever did, the world would thank them for it. _

_ Gregor had herded Draco and Harry away next and lord knows what they were talking about, but it seemed animated. _

_ And then Viktor escorted Ginny and I, and we talked about how Bill and Fleur were doing, Ginny and Viktor mostly trading information, but it was interesting to listen to, and it was wonderful to see everyone getting along. I suppose I had a small, sort of background fear that it wouldn’t work, but of course that doesn’t account for how keen Sofia and Gregor are to be… I don’t know, a helpful and loving part of my and Viktor’s lives. I suppose when everyone shows up bringing their best game and makes an effort and no one is repeatedly triggered by traumatic events… well, I suppose things go much more smoothly. _

_ I… it’s strange to ask you this. I don’t know that I have the right to, but you know I’ve bonded with Harry and we’re siblings now. And he has no family of his own - well, his uncle actively hates him, his aunt apparently feels guilty and has been acting strangely, and he’s now on speaking terms with his cousin. If I understand correctly, after Harry saved his cousin from a dementor things rather shifted between them and they’ve been talking. I’m not sure if they’ll ever really be close, but at least it’s something. And Harry has requested that his cousin be invited to the coronation, and of course we’ll find a place for him in The Curtain, and if he’s going to be there, he may as well be at the wedding too… but where I was going with this. I don’t want you to feel that just because Harry and I have sort of adopted each other that you need to adopt him as well. And I know you could never replace the parents he’s heard about but never met outside of a magical mirror, wizarding photographs, and a few ghostly encounters. But if you ever had wanted a second child, a son, I think you have an opportunity to claim him, if you choose. He desperately needs love. He always has. And he’s so grateful when he receives it, and I suppose he probably imagines he doesn’t deserve any of it. _

_ It’s just a pinch over a month now, until the wedding and coronation. I should probably be more nervous than I am, but who has time? It’s not that classes are so absorbing. I mean, it’s not the second, third, or fourth time I’ve been exposed to the material, and so it’s more of an intense, slow-paced review under supervision, and even DADA is a bit boring except for the practical bits. Thank heavens for Charms, Transfiguration, and Potions and the heaps of practical work that are involved, all of which is new for me. But the essays? They practically write themselves. And as much as I love Arithmancy and Ancient Runes, I had rather taught myself all of it out of the books last year. Under normal circumstances (oh, but what is normal?) I might be content to overachieve there, but then there is my independent study, which is all quite new material and goes as fast as I can take, and then my entirely independent research into the history, culture, and connection of the house elves, merfolk, and centaurs, the few crafty side-projects I have (no knitting this year, for better or for worse, but I’m deep into bag charming which is fascinating in its own right), the Shakespeare Curriculum Project I’ve been working on in the odd hours, and all the letter writing… And of course Viktor who often as not studies quietly nearby as I work or write letters, but of course there are those times when we’re together and not studying and that does take quite a bit of time. (Dad, avert your eyes. Oh, Mum, he’s so amazing. I would, at some point, just like to spend a few days in bed with him.) _

_ So, all that’s to say that since I don’t have to actually plan the wedding, or the coronation, just show up and be a gracious hostess, I am free to get on with the rest of life and I have done so. But then, it’s also easy to sort of forget. Sounds awful, but there you go. But I suppose it’s actually quite good, because if it was constantly on my mind I’d be fretting like mad. And really, it’s all well in hand. I get updates. Ginny, Narcissa, and Augusta are like some maiden-mother-crone trinity of high-performing excellence. Augusta is working all the ministry angles beautifully and everyone respects her and hops to when she says boo, Narcissa has whipped all the merchants and purebloods into line and spun things just so they’re all begging to donate services and aid, and Ginny has organized all the wedding details as well as the souvenir details down to the dotted ‘i’s and crossed ‘t’s. To whit, your wedding invitation is enclosed. I will tentatively relay your positive RSVP to Ginny. _

_ Also, Narcissa, under Elizabeth’s suggestion, has managed to round up every single Shakespeare-knowing thespian remotely connected with the wizarding world for me… Mum, Dad. Sir P_ S_ is going to direct A Comedy of Errors on my stage. And he’s going to play the part of the Duke. This is clearly the part of this role I’m going to like the most. And with our beloved Picard directing I can almost guarantee that the play will be a comedy of errors only in the scripted sense, and not, as I had feared, in presentation as well. (It’s why I chose that play, really. Because if wizards had just messed it up, we could play that off as just another humorous folly…) _

_ But of course, day by day it’s all coming closer and closer. I know there are plans and plots afoot for bringing your memories back, but I’ve quite intentionally distanced myself from that as well. You’d think I’d want to know more, do more… but after the first attempts, well, the first failures, I couldn’t. And I had to be so discreet. I didn’t want to do something stupid that would require further obliviation and thus perhaps complicate further a possible cure. So I used Harry’s invisibility cloak. I came by night using spells and potions while you slept. And each day I managed to pass before you to see if there was recognition, and each day you met me as a stranger. _

_ But one can only take so many weeks of failure. That was the beginning of June, in case you were curious, in case any of it took in any small way. I went home in defeat and found Viktor’s first letter to me in more than a year. And I, who had been convinced that he would want nothing to do with me after how I had treated him, I was so indecently relieved to discover he had been writing me to no avail all this time. Which is rather horrible, as it must have been a terrible thing for him to have to endure, and yet there it is: I was relieved that he still loved me. Oh, not that I understood just how much or in just what manner, but he had been my dearest and most sane friend for so long and of course that’s exactly the sort of thing the horcrux likes to twist, and it had done without me even realizing what was what. And so in the midst of such abject failure as I found in Australia, I returned to our empty house so full of pain for me to find… a letter. With a rose. And even though it felt like something was dying inside of me, when I read that letter and ended the charm on the rose, something else was being born, I think. _

_ Oh, I’ve gotten so maudlin. I don’t know why I still do this. My life is idyllic, now. I’m immersed in studying and surrounded by people who love me, I all but live with Viktor, I’m not in constant pain and I can almost sleep through the night, most nights. Why am I not happier, Mum? I have so much, and yet all I can think about is what I’ve lost. _

_ I suppose I do still need to heal. And no one can do it for me, like Viktor tells me. It stays until it goes, and it only goes when I let it go. _

_ I love you,  
_ _ Hermione _

* * *

“No, Mistress Pendragon,” Mory said plainly and when Hermione furrowed her brow, he flinched.

“I’m not upset,” she hastened to say. “I’m just trying to understand.” She paused for a moment, considering her next words. “Do you know what sort of magic it is, if it cannot be affected by elves?”

“Yes, Mistress Pendragon,” Mory answered, his relief clear in his tone. “It is the Pendragon blood. Woven all together in the New Palace.”

Hermione blinked. “Interesting. Now, help me understand this better. There are parts of the New Palace that were built by hand, parts that were built with magic that was non-ritual blood magic, and both of those two parts can be affected by the elves and their magic, and then there are things that were built by ritual blood magic, and those can’t be changed, altered, or affected by the elves. Is that right?”

“Yes, Mistress Pendragon.”

“Right. So which bits are blood magic only?”

“The mist, the frenzy, the lethargy.”

“Do you have any idea or insight into why those things?” Hermione asked, fascinated.

Mory harumphed. “The mist, to take an intruder wherever they want to go? And if they know there is a door inside the castle, they could go directly in! Directly to Mistress’s chamber! Bad. Terrible. Foolish. And if they know that door, they may know others. The door to the study. The door to the stones! And then all is lost! Foolishness! Foolishness!” Mory was pounding his small fist on his knee as he sat on his stool before the fire.

“Yes, I quite agree,” she said to Mory and then turned to Viktor who was sitting next to her, up on the couch. “Viktor, I don’t see that we should necessarily reveal the secret doorways to anyone, and I think it could be wise if we used them only with great discretion. It’s possible that someone may discover the properties of the mist… but then… there might be an expedient way of avoiding that. Let me…. Let me think about that. Um, for now, let’s continue on. What about the frenzy and the lethargy?”

Mory scoffed. “Foolish, foolish. If one doesn’t want to have sex or to sleep, one shouldn’t force it. And too much use of the spells makes it difficult other places. Harder to sleep elsewhere. Harder to have sex. Foolish. Foolish. Foolish.” Mory was shaking his head.

A dawning horror was growing over Hermione and she looked to Viktor to see that he, too, was troubled.

“We’ve got to get rid of all three, haven’t we?” she whispered.

“Without a single doubt, Myon,” he responded.

“Right. Okay. First things first. Mory - about how many times does it take for someone to sleep in a lethargy room or to have sex in a frenzy room for it to affect them in other places?”

“Stories say within a month of daily use,” Mory replied, calm once more.

Hermione took a deep breath and sighed in relief. They’d only had sex in there the once.

“Okay. So. Um. Right. We have three weeks to work on dismantling it all, because I think it would be quite a good idea to do so before we have guests for nearly a month and I think Viktor and Master Harris and I… can… work… on… that… And my concern here, Mory, is that if we pull the walls down, there won’t be any more walls. And creating permanent walls with doors is certainly a longer term project that will undoubtedly be quite expensive and so I’m tabling that conversation until I have sufficient income to blow it on something as utterly frivolous as the New Palace. But in the meantime, if we get the mist down, and we obtain sufficient quantities of fabric, Mory, do you think the fabric elves could create walls and doorways of fabric in all the standard places, properly reinforced of course, and also separate up the communal toilet into something like stalls with changing rooms attached so its actually usable?”

“Yes, Mistress Pendragon!” Mory said, grinning.

“Right,” Hermione said, sighing and letting her shoulders sag. She took another deep breath. “If the fabric elves are entirely prepared beforehand, how much time would it take them to install the fabric walls?”

Mory gazed into the fireplace for a long moment. “I would work with them, and have the space elves join, and together… together we would do it in three days.”

Hermione nodded and thought about this. “What do you need from me in order to have the fabric elves fully prepared for this?”

Mory answered more immediately. “We will have to measure and check the stores to see what fabric there is, and perhaps some new should be bought, but the Pendragons have no wealth that may be spent in stores. And fabric that is used for this project will be so heavily charmed it cannot be used for other things, save as wall coverings. If the fabric elves have three weeks to prepare, it is possible they could weave and dye some specifically for this, though there is no time for embroidery.”

“Make it red,” Viktor said quietly. “A bright, bold red. It would fit with the Roman Architecture and for your coronation you would look very good standing on a background of red.”

“Right,” Hermione said. “Make it red. Have the fabric elves start weaving and let Pampy know you have permission to buy more supplies using the Black vault. We’ll get started tomorrow on making the New Palace less of a den of corrupting iniquity and erase the security threat entirely.”

Mory rose and bowed deeply to Hermione, not something he had ever done before. At the lowest point of his bow he thanked her, and then disappeared.

The meeting was apparently over.

“Hermione, I am troubled, and I need to discuss something with you,” Viktor said, reaching out to her from his seated position on their couch. She let him pull her gently up and onto his lap. She gave him a curious look and waited in silence for what he would have to say. Perhaps he wanted to be included more in the decision making?

“There are things… that you have said you do not wish to know about, but preparations are being made, and some of them are not small. It has involved increasingly large portions of my life and my attention and I feel more and more that I have been lying to you, and I do not like this feeling in the least. And yet you have said that you do not wish to know, and so I continue. But the unease does not diminish, Myon. I wish neither to lie to you, nor to upset you. That you are stronger than I imagine, I am confident. That this is also your weakest place, I already know. Tell me what I should do, Myon. Should I continue to lie to you, or should I upset you?”

She tightened her hold around his neck and kissed the height of his cheekbone. “Upset me,” she whispered, pressing her forehead into his temple.

“Tomorrow I go to Australia,” he whispered, looking straight ahead.

She exhaled and it took a moment to realize that her teeth weren’t chattering only because her jaw was slightly open, and she could feel her back start to tense a moment before the shivering set in. She would have argued that she was fine, but she was shivering and not cold, a certain sign that she was starting to lose control.

She held him tighter and pressed her body against his, partly for comfort, partly to hide the shaking. “Thank you,” she whispered quickly, keeping her jaw slightly open so her teeth couldn’t make a sound.

She wasn’t doing a great job at hiding her upset, though. Viktor’s arms tightened around her, one hand rubbing her back and a single warming charm washing over her, the feel of Viktor’s magic doing more to calm her than the warmth itself.

“I don’t want this to upset me,” she whispered.

“I know,” he said softly, still holding her, still soothing her.

“Tell me everything,” she eventually whispered.

Viktor started speaking. He told her how they had been planning, what they eventually realized, what they had to do, what they needed from her.

She huffed a tiny bit of rueful laughter when he paused, waiting for her response. “And how were you going to get my blood with my full consent without telling me all of this?”

“Very subtle lies that were making me very uncomfortable to even consider,” he responded plainly.

“Sounds like that would have comprised the ritual.”

Viktor sighed. “Another reason to be truthful. I might have been able to phrase it just so, but perhaps not. But now that I have your agreement, truly Myon, I do believe we will be successful. The ritual will work, there is only the other factor. And we have a plan.”

He described it.

Hermione put a hand over her eyes. “Oh, lord.”

“You think it will not work?” he asked. “The beginnings have already been put into motion.”

Hermione sighed, her eyes still covered. “No, no, it’ll probably work. I just… God, I feel stupid. Why didn’t I think of that?”

He held her tightly for a moment, and then loosened his grasp. “Please let this be a very, very gentle lesson for you to always ask for help. Narcissa knew what question to ask. Harry knew the answer to the right question. I had the knowledge of the right magic. No one of us three could have done it alone, and neither could you have done. Yes?”

She nodded silently and then after a moment kissed him. It wasn’t just a chaste kiss, but neither did it last too long. She rested her forehead against his.

“Thank you, Viktor. Thank you for going through all of this for me, and for keeping it quiet until now. When do you leave tomorrow? And when do you want to take the blood?”

“Tomorrow morning before you go for a run, after I make love to you, then I will take the blood. When it is singing and fresh. We leave tomorrow evening, after an early dinner. It will be the morning, and that is when we have an appointment with them.”

“Then, I guess I have a letter to give to you,” Hermione said sadly, remembering what she had written.

He kissed her lips briefly. “And I will take it. And if it goes as I suspect it might, I will burn it later for you.”

Hermione looked at him askance. It was he who had told her to write it in the first place.

“Your parents love you, Hermione. They will not want a letter. Not when you can take Narcissa’s portkey. If they are at all inclined, Narcissa will send a patronus.”

Hermione’s breath was short. “What- time- exactly-”

“Deep breaths, Myon. Deep. Eight thirty in the evening, in this time zone. Deep, Myon.  _ Myon!”  _

Hermione came to lying on the floor between the two couches with her feet propped up on the coffee table, on top of a pillow, trainers off. Viktor was sitting next to her on the floor, his legs folded underneath him. He was stroking her face with the back of his fingers.

“Why am I on the floor?” she asked quietly.

He raised an eyebrow. “You started to breathe - hm, not sure of the word in English. Wrongly. Then you fainted.”

Hermione blushed. Fainted?  _ Fainted? Like some delicate flower that needed rescuing? How utterly embarrassing. _

Viktor grinned down at her. “You are blushing. This is good.”

“Why?” Hermione demanded tersely.

“Faint because there is not enough blood in head. Blushing means you have plenty, now.” He rubbed her red cheeks and grinned wider. “Helps to elevate feet, of course. But I have ordered salt and water and lemon for you. This will help.”

Viktor had made her drink it at the beginning of the month, too, his lemon saltwater concoction that he swore was good for dehydration. She had been ready for the worst, but had been surprised at how good it tasted. He pointed out that the more one needed it, the better it tasted.

Which made a certain amount of sense. Hermione recalled that directly after a long race her mother could eat lemons straight just for the electrolytes, and she couldn’t even taste the bitterness.

Her mother.

Hermione closed her eyes, but it was no good. The tears were leaking out anyway.

Tomorrow. Evening. Maybe.  _ Maybe.  _

Maybe she could have them back again.

For a very long time she just closed her eyes and tried to focus on her breathing. It almost worked, but the tears kept falling and Viktor kept wiping them away. 

She sat up and drank slowly when he had fixed her a glass of his all-purpose restorative.

“No hot bath for you tonight,” he murmured. “And no vigorous sex, either.”

She glared at him.

“Myon,” he said, drawing the word out and meeting her gaze quite directly. “You just fainted in my arms. This means you must be gentle and kind to yourself.”

She wanted to argue. Really, she felt fine. Instead she closed her eyes. She took several deep breaths. Then she took several more.

Okay. Okay. Viktor hadn’t said  _ no  _ sex. He’d said no  _ vigorous  _ sex. But the bath…

Eyes still closed, she spoke quietly. “The thing about the bath is that it helps me to calm down. Let go. And that would be very helpful tonight.”

“Let me give you a massage, instead,” Viktor said. “I know this is hard for you, Myon, and I don’t want to make it harder still. Come. I give you massage. Come. Let us go get ready for bed.”

He took the glass from her and helped her to her feet, then glanced at the clock.

She was cleaved to his side, her arms around him as he delicately fished the time turner out from under the jersey of his that she wore. He looped it around his head, too, and turned it back two hours.

He took the time machine off both of their necks and simply held it by its chain as he scooped Hermione up into his arms. Hermione decided not to fight it. She laid her head on his shoulder and melted into him.

“All jewelry comes off for massage,” Viktor murmured as he walked. “And when you come out of the bathroom, bring to bed that cream you use on me before,” he said, obliquely mentioning the time he tied himself to her bed. It made her smile.

“Alright,” she said and regained her feet only at the door to her powder room. She wrapped her arms around his neck then, and held on to him. “Thank you for helping me to be reasonable,” she said quietly.

He kissed the top of her head. “You’re welcome, Myon.”

Reluctantly she left his embrace and went in to floss and brush her teeth, wash her face and use the toilet. When she emerged she was greeted with the sight of Viktor, naked, stretching.

She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the doorframe. The smile stretched slowly but completely over her face.

_ God he was beautiful. _

She really didn’t get enough opportunities to just ogle him properly; not total objectification, just a deep appreciation of his natural beauty.

_ God he was beautiful.  _

His thighs were as huge and muscled as one might imagine a flyer would need, and his calves only slightly less so, though of course proportional. His abdominal muscles as well were highly developed. His back muscles were a symphony of beauty and grace. He had once told her that really that’s all he needed - legs, back, and abs, but since he didn’t want to look totally lopsided he also worked his chest and his arms, though because they were less important it was all too easy to pay less attention to them. Apparently it had taken him the entire three years they hadn’t seen each other to get his physique to the place he considered fully balanced.

Hermione privately considered that it had probably helped that he’d finished filling out and growing that last bit to bring him up to two inches beyond six feet. Now his hands, his feet, his cock, and his body were all in proportion.

Not that she’d been well acquainted with his cock before, but she  _ was  _ well acquainted with some of his physical on-the-ground awkwardness when he was younger, including his feet which he did, once in her presence, trip over.

Not that she had judged him for it, of course. Hermione had been all-too-aware of her own level of personal awkwardness to ever mock it in someone else.

Oh, he wasn’t awkward now.

“Enjoying the view, Myon?”

She smiled, purposefully not meeting his eyes, but now that he was upright and, no, wait, he was kneeling down, and… laying back? Now, that,  _ that _ was a hell of a quad stretch. He was lying on his back, his lower legs folded under his thighs, his arms stretched out above his head, and breathing deeply. His cock lay on his leg, half hard, his balls nestled around it.

“Yes,” she finally answered. “Yes, I am.” After a moment of watching as he continued to hold the stretch, she added, “You are crazy flexible.”

“Yes,” he said, echoing her. “Yes, I am.”

“Lavatory’s yours, whenever you’re done being all bendy.” She tore her eyes away and took all of her jewelry off, which felt a bit strange, but she put it all on her dressing table all the same, and fetched out the all-purpose repair cream and put it on her bedside table along with her wand, and next to Viktor’s.

She put out her running clothes for the next day and then stripped and tossed her clothes in the laundry basket at the bottom of her wardrobe.

Viktor was in and out of the powder room quickly and she’d barely had any time at all to read a bit of her novel in bed by the soft glow of her blue flames. After she’d marked the place he’d taken it from her and put it back on the pile across the room.

“Start on your stomach.” He piled up pillows underneath her torso, then rolled a single pillow to rest her forehead on, giving her face an open space for breath, while totally supporting her shoulders. “Put arms so,” he said, gently moving them so they laid in a more natural fashion off to the side. “It is good? Are you comfortable?”

Hermione moaned in happiness. It was actually quite comfortable. “A little cold, without the blankets - ooh, yes. Thank you,” she said, feeling the warmth wash over her.

The massage started at her shoulders and for a long while every exhale was a moan. When she’d stopped moaning for a whole minute, he began to speak quietly.

“I have taken a week of my vacation, starting today. I had considered many things to do with the rest of it, once I am finished in Australia, but I think perhaps when I return I will seek a meeting with your Master Harris of ritual blood magic. Do you have his address?”

“No,” Hermione said simply.

“I shall ask the Headmistress to send it to me tomorrow. She has a plan, you know. If all goes well, and you use the portkey. She will excuse you from classes, from residency until Monday morning, so that you may spend time with your parents. To return, you call your elves, and then they know your parents’ house and can retrieve them more easily, and also deliver letters for you.”

Hermione’s heart clenched at Minerva’s thoughtfulness.  “I’m so grateful Viktor, so very grateful for all you three have done for me. But, oh, damn,” she remembered. “I was supposed to have a meeting with a portrait on Friday afternoon. But I suppose she’ll reschedule that, as she set it up for me.”

The room was silent for a long time. Viktor had moved down her arms, then down her back to massage out the pains in her arse before she spoke again. “Four days. Five, really, between tomorrow morning and Monday evening when I’ll see you again, if all goes well. Not enough time with my parents, and too much time without you.”

Briefly he massaged the backs of her thighs before telling her to roll over. There was a surprising amount of tension in her pectoral muscles, between her collarbone and her breasts.

“I will miss you keenly, Myon, but it will go by quickly enough, and then we need not be parted for so long again.”

“Could you… could you stay?” she asked tentatively.

“I have considered this, but I think no. You need a few days to be just their daughter, and not also my lover, my intended.”

“I see your point, and I’m not trying to change your mind, but just for the record, you don’t stop being my lover just because we’re parted by many miles. You  _ started  _ being my lover when we were parted by many miles, Viktor.”

“Mm,” he said, and she opened her eyes to see him smiling. “Yes. I suppose I shall have to write you long, desperate letters, pour out my heart and my cock to you, all over again every night and have them waiting for you when you return on Monday morning, as if you needed a further distraction from your classes that day.”

“Will you? I mean, if it’s not too much to ask? I’m never going to turn down an opportunity to have you write me one of your beautiful letters. Also, they’re hot as fuck, Viktor.”

He smirked, and his hands drifted down to her breasts where he continued his firm massage. “Warn me to stop if you are going to come, Myon,” he said, and it was his only warning of what he was about to do. 

His head sunk down to the level of her breast as he stood next to the bed and he held one particularly steady and his lips didn’t kiss the tip, his tongue didn’t tease the soft flesh, rather and for the first time, he sucked it into his mouth gently at first but with increasing firmness.

Hermione groaned loudly because if that wasn’t the most perfect bloody sensation that was somehow connected right exactly to her wet pussy she wasn’t sure what was. She was never so happy in her life that she was  _ not _ close to orgasm because this could go on a good deal longer and that would suit her just fine.

And it did. He switched breasts three more times and used the warming charm quite creatively just on her nipples before she warned him that she was getting close. She wasn’t super close, of course, but better to be safe than sorry.

Viktor kissed down her torso and had her shift a bit on the bed so he could kneel beside it with her legs over his shoulders. He groaned as he kissed her thighs and he groaned again as he went face first into her wetness.

She had both hands in his hair, her fingers combing through his long, slightly curly locks, her fingers alternately pressing and scratching against his scalp. His tongue, oh his tongue was certainly his best feature. It spouted poetry  _ and  _ licked her pussy.

Hermione frankly wasn’t certain his cock would be able to compare.

Except possibly, she considered in a haze of lust, that when he fucked her with his cock he might also, just possibly, be able to speak at the same time, so she would get the best of both worlds.

And then the sensation was far too much to think of anything but what Viktor’s tongue was presently doing, in that it was licking rapidly at the head of her clit even as it was driving her out of her mind. She moaned soft encouragements and squirmed a bit, though his hands held her hips absolutely motionless for his feasting pleasure. The closer she got to her peak, the louder he growled into her, and the louder he growled, the closer she got.

Finally she came, panting his name and the moment she pushed his head away gently he gave her two inches of space, one hand gripping her thigh firmly as he buried his face in it, the other hand, if the slight shaking of her other leg resting on his shoulder was anything to go by, was pumping his cock hard. Still, she could hear him when he muttered against her skin.

“Ungh, God, Myon, so beautiful, so perfect. I love you so much. Fuck, I love you so much. I would do-  _ Oh, fuck-” _

Her hands were back in his hair, scratching.

He whined wordlessly.

On a whim, she removed one hand from his person and used her fingers to open wide her pussy to him.

He  _ growled. “I’m going to fuck you so hard, so soon,”  _ he said, his voice almost unrecognizable.

And then he came, harshly whispering the word  _ fuck  _ against her clit.

* * *

She had written what essays she could and given them to Ginny. She had written a letter meant to be quick but that ended up rather longer to Elizabeth and a rather shorter one to Viktor that she had meant to be quite long. She could barely eat at dinner, and currently Harry was sitting with her on the sofa in her study with his arm around her, holding a vigil with her. Neither of them said anything. There was nothing to say. It would work, or it wouldn’t. They would want to see her, or they wouldn’t. And either Viktor would step out of the bright green flames in the fireplace and gather her in his arms as she sobbed out her horror and pain, or someone’s patronus would show up and tell her to use the portkey.

The mantel clock struck eight thirty and ticked agonizingly past, every second measured in hours. She couldn’t cry, but the dread was everywhere she mentally turned.

Then the room glowed bright. She heard the words almost without hearing them and sat there, stunned.

Harry hugged her harder for a moment, and then let her go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooh, a cliffhanger. Sort of. Next chapter update: tomorrow morning.
> 
> [fun fact: after the scenelet with Dudley, my husband's laughing comment was, 'he _is_ related to Harry.']


	30. Chapter 27: Wherein Australia is visited by the Men In Black.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is what happens when you ask Harry Potter for help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good morning, and Happy Easter. Bunnies or no, Christian or no, I have a gift for you. I hope you enjoy it.

Harry didn’t accompany them, but he had coached them on their lines and even insisted they all sit around in his nearly finished townhouse and watch a muggle device rebroadcast a recorded play. He insisted that while few muggles believed that aliens existed, most of them believed in secret government ministries which kept secret things secret, and traditionally they all wore black suits.

The black sunglasses were debated long and hard, but in the end, they all gave in to Harry’s expertise.

The issue at hand was, of course, that there was a blood magic ritual that would work perfectly. It was easy to perform, quick to finish and Hermione would be available to donate blood for it. Afterwards there would be a period of time where both sets of memories would seem equally real, but after a few days, the implanted wishes and memories would fade and be like a dream remembered, and the natural personality and desires of the person would be allowed to come to the fore once more.

The only, single, solitary difficulty was that the participants all had to give their consent.

Viktor who would do the ritual and Hermione who would donate blood, their consent was not an issue. But the Grangers-cum-Wilkinses? 

This issue of what constituted consent was debated heavily, but Viktor was extremely clear and absolutely resolved. Sleeping did not count. Imperius did not count. Coercion of any kind did not count. They did not need to consent to participating in a  _ blood ritual _ , per se, but they had to consent to a procedure that would return their memories and old identities.

It seemed like an insurmountable impossibility, until Narcissa suggested they turn to Harry.

_ “Is there any person or people in the culture of British muggles of whom an individual or couple would willingly believe outlandish stories about going into hiding, and submit to procedures or rituals to reclaim memories or identities?” _

It had taken Harry thirty seconds. They had been agonizing for two months.

Harry had explained about Witness Protection Programs, and how they were real, and used, and maybe even harder to bear than what Hermione had to do, but that it was also an open secret that governments used them when criminals were targeting witnesses.

Harry had explained about the men in black and various theories. The “movie” from America had helped and they had all procured black suits, though Minerva had balked at wearing trousers. They also created identification that Harry deemed convincing enough, and, yes, eventually, there were sunglasses.

Narcissa, Harry decided, needed to do all the talking. Minerva’s accent was too disarming, Viktor’s accent was too aggressive, and Narcissa’s RP level of posh would be more convincing, not less.

And so they made a script, heavily leaning on the movie. They called and made an appointment the day before to see both of the doctors in their home at seven in the morning on Thursday, December 2nd, claiming to be immigration officials, and Harry helped to navigate them through both that conversation and the use of the telephone.

At half past eight in the evening in the timezone to which they were all accustomed, Narcissa knocked on the door of the neat-as-a-pin cottage in the bright morning sunlight of Adelaide.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with us before your day begins, Dr. and Dr. Wilkins. We know you are very busy people, so we won’t take up much of your time. No, we won’t take any tea, thank you. Allow me to get straight to the point. We are from a special division of the British government in charge of Witness Protection Services.”

“Are you MI5?” Mr. Granger demanded.

“That information is classified,” Narcissa demurred. “However, I can tell you, because I understand  _ you will not remember,  _ the danger for you and your family has passed, and it is appropriate that you come out of hiding. You have loved ones who miss you.”

“But we’re not  _ in  _ a witness protection program. We just… always wanted to live in Australia. It’s been a dream of ours for ages,” Mrs. Granger protested.

“And we don’t have any family!” Mr. Granger argued.

Narcissa looked deeply into Mrs. Granger’s eyes. “You don’t have a mother in Provence?” she asked quietly, and waited for a response.

In silence one of Mrs. Granger’s hands sought out her husband’s on the couch, and the other clutched at her own mouth, a dawning look of horror cresting over her face. “Oh, my God,” she whispered after a moment. She looked slowly to her husband, her eyes wide as saucers. “How could I have forgotten about Maman?”

After another moment of silence when she clearly had both of their undivided attention, Narcissa spoke again. “The knowledge of your mother wasn’t buried very deeply, just put aside, and as you see, it came back with a simple mention of her. We do have an easy, non-invasive procedure that will allow the rest of your memories to come back gently, but you must give your consent, or it won’t work.”

Narcissa let that sink in for a moment.

“I don’t know,” Mr. Granger said, wavering. “We love our life here. We don’t  _ miss  _ England.”

“When the procedure is complete, you needn’t move home if you don’t wish to. But you will remember the people you left. The  _ daughter  _ you left.”

Mr. Granger blustered, but Mrs. Granger clutched at her heart, her face an essay of agony with which Narcissa could well commiserate.

“I’ll do it,” Mrs. Granger gasped, her hand still over her heart.

“Monica!” her husband cried, outraged and confused.

She turned to him and they all watched silently as the drama unfolded, silently sending thanks to Harry, and St. Cyril. In a whisper, Mrs. Granger tearfully implored her husband to understand. “ _ Something has been missing! I love our new home, our practice, but ever since we moved, something has been missing, and I haven’t known what it was! I haven’t know what it was!” _

Mrs. Granger turned back to Narcissa and with a stronger voice asked, “Can you do it now? Here? Or do I need to go somewhere? Should I call in and cancel my appointments for the day?”

“It won’t take long,” Narcissa said, backing up and making room for Viktor. “My associate will perform the procedure. Remain calm, and it will be over in a moment.”

Viktor stepped up to his mother-in-law and crouched down to her seated level, pulled the small phial of blood out of his inner coat pocket, opened it and put his thumb over the end. A flick of the wrist coated a small portion of his thumb in Hermione’s blood and when he reached out to put it on her forehead, he did not flinch when all at once there was movement all around him.

Mr. Granger leaned in to bat his hand away, calling him a thug and wanting to know what he was doing with that phial of blood.

Narcissa hissed for him not to interrupt and her hand shot out and an unseen force pinned him back. Not quite a petrificus totalis, just a momentary binding, and he fell back into the couch cushions, silent and still.

Viktor continued, his focus pure. He sang in Bulgarian, the brief ritual for the blood to call to blood and remember blood, as his bloody thumb pressed into Mrs. Granger’s third-eye. When he was done, he removed his thumb and the blood on her forehead absorbed into her skin. He stepped back to allow Narcissa to continue and sucked the blood off of his thumb, which was the only safe way to dispose of it. They had all agreed not to use an athame of Hermione’s, as coming at their heads with a sharp knife was not the way to induce calm and compliance.

“I apologize for restraining you, Dr. Wilkins. I could not have you interfering with the procedure,” Narcissa said, her voice calm and reasonable, and she flicked her fingers and ended the jinx.

_ “What the hell was that?” _ Mr. Granger shouted.

“Professor McGonagall?” Mrs. Granger asked in a wondering tone.

“Good morning, Dr. Granger. I am very glad to see that the procedure worked as well as we had hoped. How are you feeling?”

“I… Um… A little dazed, I think. I’m sorry,” she said after a moment. “Should I know all of you?”

“Allow me to introduce my associates,” Minerva said gently. “This is Lady Narcissa, Countess Black, and Mr. Viktor Krum, lately of Bulgaria.”

“Viktor Krum? The one who dated Hermione in…” Mrs. Granger paused as the other shoe dropped. “ _ Hermione!”  _ She looked frantically about the room. “ _ Where is Hermione? Is she alright?” _

“Hermione is perfectly safe, and she is well, and she misses you terribly,” Narcissa said quietly. “We are here at her request.”

“I… Thank you.  _ Thank you,” _ said Mrs. Granger as the tears began to fall.

“ _ What the hell is going on? Monica?”  _ Mr. Granger shouted in a horrified whisper, and no one faulted him for not enjoying the confused state of his emotions.

“Can, can you bring her here?  _ Hermione?”  _ Mrs. Granger asked, ignoring her husband and getting choked up on her daughter’s name.

“I’ll send her a message,” Narcissa replied, and she stepped away again, pulled her wand and manifested her patronus, a glowing white dove.  _ “Hermione dear, use the locket. Your mother wishes to speak to you,”  _ she told the dove and it soared up and away. She walked further away, into a very open part of the room without any furniture and Viktor followed her. She held the hand with the Black signet ring on it as far away from herself as she could, and Viktor walked right up to her hand and held his arms out, as if holding something. They both looked up.

“What’s going on?” Mr. Granger asked quietly, perhaps panicking. His wife took up his hand and shushed him.

“Magic,” she responded quietly. “Magic,” she whispered, looking up to where the others did. “I think it must be a portkey,” she whispered. “It’s the only way to come so quickly, so far,” she continued, still staring at the ceiling. “It must have been Hermione’s blood he used.” All she said was in a whisper.

“Who’s Hermione?” he asked desperately, his voice almost inaudible.

“Your little girl,” she whispered back. “Hermione Jean. You chose her first name, I chose her second. It was the first year of our practice. We thought it would be so hard, but it wasn’t. Hermione was always-”

Viktor caught Hermione easily and held her for a moment before putting her back on her feet.

“Hermione!” Mrs. Granger sprang up from her seat on the couch with her husband and caught her daughter in a hug.

“ _ MUM! _ ” Hermione yelled, but was muffled by the embrace. “I thought I’d never get you back again. I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!”

Her mother shushed her and rocked her and told her it was fine, fine, everything was fine, now.

Viktor quietly made his way across the room and crouched down in front of his father-in-law.

“Would you like to remember your daughter, sir?” he asked quietly.

Hermione looked up, her face tearstained. “Daddy?”

Mr. Granger gasped softly and whispered, “She looks just like my mother.” He took a faltering breath and looked at the man in front of him. “Do it,” he breathed.

When it was all over and a moment or two had passed to let the initial shock wear away, Minerva addressed them all.

“We’ll be going now. Hermione, you will be excused from classes and residency until Monday morning, and do remember the time and date difference. When you wish to return, call your elves. I expect you and your parents have quite a bit to talk about.”

“Wait!” Hermione yelped, and extracted herself from her parents’ embrace.

She threw her arms around each of them in turn, thanking them profusely, and no one denied her the moment of gratitude. 

Narcissa smiled silently and gently patted the side of her face when Hermione was finished with her, and if her smile was bittersweet and tinged in deep sorrow, no one commented. 

Minerva blustered only slightly and distracted herself by propping her own sunglasses on the top of Hermione’s head. “They look better on you, I think,” she said. 

Her hug with Viktor lasted perhaps the longest, and it was clear they were whispering to each other, though no one invaded their brief moment of privacy. It ended soon enough and well before eyebrows were raised. 

The three gathered around, boy, mother, and crone, and they all touched Minerva’s signet ring, including Minerva herself.

“Hogwarts,” she said plainly, and then they were gone.

The room was silent for a long moment.

“What’s this, then?” Mrs. Granger asked, holding up Hermione’s hand that bore a signet ring and perhaps most importantly a rather ostentatious diamond engagement ring.

“We’re gone for ten minutes and you go and get engaged?” Mr. Granger asked, a good-natured grin across his face.

The elder Grangers exchanged a look.

“I’ll make coffee,” Mrs. Granger announced.

“I’ll call us in and clear us until next week,” Mr. Granger agreed.

Hermione, for her part, adjusted Minerva’s RayBans over her eyes and fell silently onto the sofa, laughing and crying at the same time.

* * *

Hermione was enjoying the last few hours of her parents’ company. Many things had been sorted, all had been forgiven, and her heart was lighter than she ever remembered it being.

No decisions about moving country would be made any time soon, and they were all happily agreed to it. The Grangers would travel via elf back and forth to Britain for now, and they would spend almost the entirety of Hermione’s Christmas break with her either in the castle in Wales or in the cottage at Ramsgate, depending on what decisions were made. They would take a few days to check on their house and decide if there were more belongings they wanted with them in Australia for now. 

They had privately decided to take some time and consider whether their old house really made them happy any more, or if perhaps they should contact an estate agent while they were in-country and start the ball rolling to let it go. Certainly in several weeks they would be able to have a better sense of where they wanted to live.

Everyone had time to adjust to the brief but honest account of the war Hermione had given over the course of a few hours, and were glad that after that the admissions and changes to their daughter’s life took a decidedly brighter turn.

They both cried when Hermione showed them her scars, the one on her arm no less than the one across her chest.

They were so proud when she told them she was going to be knighted. They were shocked when she told them that Lady Narcissa had offered to make Hermione her heir. They both had to sit down when Hermione revealed the implications of being the only extant Pendragon. Giddy laughter followed, when Hermione revealed that she was now in possession, in fact, of Henry V’s crown. Actually.  _ Actually. _

And they told Hermione how they had been settling in, the new friends they’d made, their neighbors both kind and nosy, their patients. They brainstormed about what to do about their  _ names.  _ Their undercover names felt as normal to them at present as their natural ones did, but it felt very, very wrong to have a work visa under a fake passport. Hermione promised to have a quiet word with the Minister of Magic and see if anything could be done retrospectively to put things on a more legal footing, in case they wanted to stay in Australia, though it’s possible they might have to immigrate all over again. When her parents balked at yet more subterfuge, lies, and illegal activity, Hermione pointed out that to the wizarding government, it was the statute of secrecy that was all important, and muggle laws were regularly bent or broken in order to maintain it.

When the conversation circled back to Viktor for the fourth time in as many days, after much prompting Hermione shyly admitted to a torrid love affair that drove her father from the house muttering under his breath and found Hermione and her mother conversing in hushed tones over the kitchen table, gestures and quiet words punctuated by laughter at things like stamina drills, and using a time machine to have more time for intimacy.

And then the time drew to a close, as they knew it would. Hermione’s clothes had been laundered and she stopped wearing her mother’s things. Promises were made to write and the Twins were introduced and memorized the location. As Hermione would leave Hogwarts directly after the leaving feast on the 22nd, they would arrive on the morning of the 23rd more or less the same time the Krums would be arriving by floo, having been brought by one of their elves to Black Cottage.

When the elf wearing a tie-dyed pillowcase snapped her fingers, both elves and Hermione were gone, but for the first time in a while, she was out of sight, but not out of mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ::hugs:: You're wonderful and I love you. Stay strong all y'all.


	31. Chapter 28: Wherein there is pining and planning.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We spin the clock back in time, back to December 1st in order to catch up on a flurry of letters. We can do this, because this story has a time machine in it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a scene in this chapter that my husband has said is the hottest thing I've ever written. Which says something, because I've written a lot of very hot things.

_December 1, 199_  
_ _Hogwarts Castle_

_Dear Elizabeth,_

_Well, busy, busy, busy. I think I finally, finally understand why the elves loathe the New Palace. First, it’s a massive security breach waiting to happen. I feel confident telling you this, as we’re about to change it, and before we have a few thousand guests milling about. It provides a door directly into the master suite, if you know how to use it. And since the whole thing is remarkably fortified to protect the stones (for what exact reason I’m not yet certain) and filled with secret passageways, if you know one you might know others, and so then the whole deal is shot. Second, the snoozy rooms and sexy rooms, actually have the downsides that if you use them to promote sleep or sex too often, you have a harder time doing either one elsewhere. How horrifying. And apparently the elves refused to create the magic to do these three things, so it all had to be done with ritual blood magic which can’t be meddled with without more ritual blood magic. So, that’s on my todo list. Well, mine and Viktor’s. He’s in the post-season now and he’s just finished up another project so he’s going to be spending some time investigating this with Master Harris, my blood magic tutor. I’ll have to be the one to do the ritual, but I don’t mind not being the one to figure it out this time. I mean, it’s a fascinating challenge, but I just don’t know enough about the subject matter yet. If I had the luxury of time, I might horde it to myself, or at least insist that I get to have my part in the conversation, but there just isn’t time._

_Funny how having a time machine doesn’t solve that problem. No matter how many hours I have in my day, anywhere between twenty-four and twenty-nine, there are still things left undone at the end of each day._

_Apropos of nothing much at all except perhaps that you will soon be my guest, let me take a moment and acquaint you with the Pendragon Castle answer to indoor plumbing. Of which there is none._

_Water for drinking must be requested in pitchers from elves._

_Water for hand washing is found in basins, with soap nearby. The water refreshes itself, no matter how dirty you get it._

_Toilets in The Curtain (not the communal toilet in the New Palace, which is a standard Roman design) are empty basins at sitting height that are remarkably comfortable, all things considered. One does one’s business into them, and before anything hits the bottom of the basin, it is already gone into one of the rotating composting middens._

_Showers are a thing of fantasy and legend, or of standing out in rainstorms._

_Baths look remarkably similar except one must call an elf to fill it and heat it properly. Likewise to drain it._

_The cold and hot bath in the New Palace has a constantly maintained charm to keep the water pure and fresh, but the charm lingers in the water slightly, so ingesting a tiny bit is not terrible, but one wouldn’t wish to take the waters internally on purpose unless one has no wish to have helpful gut bacteria._

_The steamroom in the New Palace is also under charms that are constantly maintained._

_Oh, the New Palace. I can’t tell you the change in demeanor my head elf had when I told him the blood magic was all coming down and we’d have to figure out a new way to have walls. (He’s working on that with a team of elves as I write. I believe it will be a much more dramatic look than the mist. More secure, too, as there will no longer be a secret doorway between my bedroom and the New Palace.)_

_That’s all for this week. More on the general state of the wizarding world next week. Hope you are well._

_Love,  
_ _Hermione_

* * *

 _December 1, 199_  
_ _Hogwarts Castle_

_My darling Viktor,_

_I hardly know what to say. Thank you so much. Whether they consent or not, thank you. Whether they have wanted to see me or are entirely too angry and betrayed to consider it, thank you. Thank you for your kindness. Thank you for your heart, which is large enough for me to fit inside. Thank you for dedicating so much of your time and energy to this plan._

_I love you. If I am called away, I’ll miss you so much. And if I’m not, you’ll have a sobbing mess on your hands all over again._

_I hope if we are parted, it won’t be like last time. I’m going to just assume that it won’t be._

_I love you so much,  
_ _Hermione_

* * *

 _December 1, 199_  
_ _The Cross Hotel, Ely_

_My dearest Myon,_

_Now that we are in the post-season it seems an age since I have written to you. In a way I miss the process of putting my thoughts down on paper. It encourages me to think and consider things in a way that speaking does not always allow._

_I know you must be worried, my sweetest and most cherished one. These are the moments I am reminded that as much liberty as you have, we are not yet married and I do not yet have the right to be with you in your home whenever I feel it necessary. I hope you are taking advantage of your brother’s presence and not clinging only to your bravery at all costs. Your courage could never be doubted, Myon. It does not need to be proven. So I will hope and pray that you are taking the best care of yourself that you can and I shall move on._

_I do not feel nervous, per se. It is more the way I feel before a game. The anticipation. The uncertainty. I have prepared. I have done all I can in advance. We all have. And now it simply must happen. We must be subtle. We must be attentive. We must believe the small lies we tell and own them deep in our bones because of the larger truth they amplify._

_It reminds me of the book we had discussed the other day, the one by the author of_ _Wyrd Sisters_ _._ _The Hogfather_ _, was it? Something like that. When he called justice and mercy lies we must believe in so that they will become truth._

_We are the Men in Black. Their essence is to come in aid of a purpose which may or may not benefit you. Generally they are protective and specifically they may not be. They lie about their credentials because you don’t have enough insight to be able to take them at face value. They wear black suits. They steal you away, and return you back again. If they have come for you it may mean that they have just saved your life._

_We are the Men in Black._

_Now, changing subjects entirely. It is the first of the month. What do you wish to get out of this month, I wonder? Your parents and their love, undoubtedly, but is that how you would answer? I can never predict you. I wonder if you got what you wanted out of October and November? From my perspective November did not seem particularly peaceful to you, and October hardly let you get your breath. Will you want again peace in December? I do not imagine your December will be any less interesting, and indeed it is likely to be moreso, Myon. This tells me that you will either need to have a different goal, or perhaps go about it differently. Your life may never be quiet, Myon. But that does not mean you cannot find peace within it all the same._

_For myself, this month… I want you. I know it’s what I always say. I have not fully gotten my wish, yet. It is about sex, to a degree. It is about fully cohabitating, to a degree. And there is something else, something that is harder to describe. I want to be inside of you, physically, emotionally, spiritually and know that I belong there. I want you to be inside of me, again, physically, emotionally, and spiritually and know that you belong there. It has to do with marriage, but marriage is not a panacea. Marriage is the beginning of the solemn promise to entwine our lives, but then the everyday acts of actually entwining make me think of the climbing variety of the concordia. With two plants you could overgrow a castle. A large castle, Myon, not just our tiny little tower. With just one you cannot even manage to coax it over an arbor. It is a quirk of Concordia, perhaps. She will not thrive alone. But with loved ones, she is unstoppable._

_For too long, I feel, we have been left to thrive alone. Not without friends, not without confidants, but certainly without each other. And we have been making remarkable progress over the arbor, all on our own. But think, Myon. Just think what we can do, together._

_And I will leave it here for now. It is time to go get dressed and put on the mantle of the MIB, and have some dinner before I meet the Headmistress and Narcissa._

_I adore you, my treasured one._

_Later_

_I am so pleased for you, Hermione. And for now at least, your absence of a few days feels like nothing, nothing at all compared to what I witnessed between you and your parents. I know that right now you are in the best of hands and surrounded by love and that something is healing inside of you that could not be healed any other way and I am so grateful that it came to pass in this way. I am honored that I could be of help to you._

_It was an unexpected joy to hold you, even briefly at the end, my North Star._

_You’re welcome._

_I promise._

_And my fantasy for this evening? It is tame, but no less beautiful for being so. I will imagine you sitting between your parents with their arms around you as you cry, as you laugh, as you regale them with rubber ducks and ocean deeps alike. I will imagine this as if I could see you healing before my very eyes, Myon. It is a beautiful image that warms the heart._

_And later, yes, of course when I lie on my bed I will imagine it is your hand wrapped around my cock while mine are far too busy distracting you, and my senses will be filled with the memory of your touch, of your voice, of your scent. I will wrap myself in memories and come hard, but that is nothing new. The more beautiful picture to me at this present moment is the one where you return to Scotland with a missing piece of your soul returned to you, its jagged edges smoothed and beginning to heal._

_All my love, forever,  
_ _Viktor_

_PS - Do tell your father when next you communicate with him that I forgave him for calling me a thug. It was easy, when I saw his heart bleed out his eyes for you, even before he could remember how important you were to him._

* * *

_December 2, 199_  
_ _Buckingham Palace_

_Dear Hermione,_

_The general state of the wizarding world can wait another week, I am sure. I for one am very grateful to know how the lack of indoor plumbing works quite specifically. I shall share this information with Charles and Pembroke and I urge you if you have not done already, consider having some sort of explanatory card in each suite for more than just non-magical people may be unaware of this._

_I am also quite pleased to know that a security breach is being remedied. It’s all quite clear to me now why the elves would have no respect for the New Palace. It is not merely a place for play, which is a good outlet for stress and strain, but it seems clear to me that addiction, greed, and deep selfishness were also in the offing. Given what we consider about the fourth tent peg, I can see how it might have alarmed the first peg quite significantly. I am glad you have delegated this matter to such trusted individuals as Viktor and your Master Harris. You cannot do everything, Hermione, and you must delegate when appropriate and possible._

_We are all quite well over here, and my dear Philip has reiterated his stance on state secrets and has privately and quite humorously decided that I obviously am needed to hold MI6’s hand in regards to the Y2K scare and he will happily cover for me so as to uphold MI6’s sterling reputation as a trailer full of tough guys. His phrasing entirely, the dear man. I have shared this with Charles whose pet name for you now is MI6. I honestly don’t know whether to scold him or give into the urge to laugh._

_Be well,  
_ _Elizabeth_

* * *

 _December 2, 199_  
_ _The Cross Hotel, Ely_

_My dearest Myon,_

_Last night was unexpectedly difficult. Which is not to say that I had expected it to be easy, but truly when I returned to Ely after my brief foray into the Southern Hemisphere and interestingly, tomorrow, I was elated. Our general success was wonderful. My personal success as a practitioner of ritual blood magic was fantastic. Your specific success at having your parents returned to you was a relief beyond measure. I finished my letter to you and went for a run to burn off some energy. I decided against the Roman Bath which would have in some ways been quite welcome and in others quite bittersweet, and simply used my accomodations at Ely. And the bed I have not been in in weeks._

_This was the moment I realized that I could not sleep well without you._

_I don’t know if it was the animal craving of physical closeness, or the relational craving of emotional closeness, or some other craving of some other closeness, but there was a deep discomfort all the same. Still, I did sleep somewhat, and there was nothing like the pure anguish I felt the few other days in November I did not spend in your bed._

_My vacation continues until Tuesday, when I go back to work, but even so, these half days are easy things to navigate. All the same, I did some weight training this morning after my run, and then went to do some flying at Pendragon Castle - the construction is coming along nicely. I did stop to sign a few autographs and have a few interesting conversations. The Regent Players have started to rehearse on the stage, despite construction going on in the back of it, and in those few buildings used for the actors and for the storage of their gear. I also spent a bit of time exploring. Until I know the state of the forests I think it best to stay out of them while flying alone, but I did explore the road to see where it went, and the ranger’s station and visitor’s center and camping areas and such. This is something to discuss with Mory at some point, but we’ll need to decide whether we want to clear those already largely cleared areas and perhaps put the crops in there. Still there may be some small areas of the forest that we’ll want to clear for crops, but we should probably do that in concert with Firenze particularly as they could use the lumber for the construction of their homes. But it may be that the elves know of ancient farming sites that have useful spells lingering, and those would be best of all, perhaps._

_Before I left yesterday, I did write a letter to Master Harris, introducing myself and requesting a professional consultation. I think it best this way. You may wish to have further tuition with him, and depending on how well we get on and both of our dispositions at the end, I may apply to apprentice with him, but for now, we need a professional to do their work as quickly and efficiently as possible. So I’m going to hire him and hopefully he’ll have a plan he can implement by the time you return to donate blood for the project. (I’ve already banished the excess blood you donated for the return of your parents, not that it would have worked for a different project requiring different consent. But still, I would never use it without your explicit permission.) And when I returned from my flight and exploration today, I had a response from him. We met this afternoon for his initial assessment of the work to be done, a discussion with Mory, and negotiation as to his fee. It is all coming along very nicely._

_I do not know what your long-term plans for wards are for the estate in Wales, but this is something I would like to discuss at length with you. I understand that the ministry is handling security for the coronation, but would it be possible to sit down and discuss with Augusta exactly what those measures are, and exactly what measures there are to keep non VIPs outside of the Enclosure wall? Augusta seems like a very fine and competent woman. But the Ministry also handled security for the Quidditch World Cup at which we met. You understand, perhaps, why I do not have complete confidence in them._

_Similarly I have questions about the wards involved at Black Cottage, but I imagine Narcissa has that well in hand._

_Have you considered how we will entertain the guests we will have for two and a half weeks?_

_Have you discussed menus with Mory, or the head of your kitchen?_

_Have you shared with Mory your plans for which guest is assigned to which room, and which elves will be taking care of them, and which sitting room will be at their disposal, and who is allowed to use the floo?_

_I do not ask you these things to overwhelm you, but if you have not attended to them yet and you do not wish to, I can do this._

_I would suggest, however, that the small library on the ground floor be filled with whatever fiction, poetry, plays, and beginning level academic texts we have so that it may be a potential resource for guests. Likewise copies of the daily and weekly newspapers could be found in there. Similarly again, I think we should put what games we have in the gaming rooms in the New Palace._

_Apparently I am feeling quite domestic today. I wish I had considered some of these things earlier so that I could be further along in domesticating our home for our guests and ourselves. I think, perhaps, until just now it had somehow remained somewhat surreal. And now it is all too real, and I wish to make this adorable little tower castle into a suitable home for us both. So, I will take on such small tasks as I think you will not mind, or perhaps even not notice, until you return. If I perchance have overstepped at some point, I trust you will tell me. Otherwise I shall assume you will simply be grateful not to have to have seen to it yourself._

_Having said all of this, before dinner this evening I went through all the rooms and then asked Mory questions about all of the obvious things that were required but missing in the suites. Like sheets. (Blankets, yes. Wool. Down. Linen covers. All in very good condition. Sheets? Entirely absent, Myon. Likewise, standard pillows, though that is perhaps understandable.) I have sorted through the random items temporarily stored in the nursery and claimed a number of them for various purposes throughout the Curtain. Shopping for missing essentials commences tomorrow._

_I think before that I will ask Mory for the personal elf he offered me on the first of November, and this will be very useful. I have also discovered a fascinating detail. All of the other participants of the ritual will be unavailable for consultation for six weeks after it. When I asked why, Myon, Mory gave me a look like I was an idiot child. I thought only my father could give me that look._

_I will spare you the embarrassing details. Not because you would not enjoy my moment of folly, but because I cannot bear to relive it so soon. Suffice to say all the participants will be quite busy with their mates and so that also includes Mory and whomever he successfully woos, which I thought to be rather pertinent information. I think I will take some time and acquaint myself this week with all of the different department heads as we will need to call on them directly, though I do not wish to disturb the fabric elves at present, given how busy they are._

_It is interesting that Mory, in his gentle way (this was after the idiot child look) asked if we were not going to take six weeks, apparently to have sex. I, in essence, told him I didn’t think it was quite necessary, and that we would take such time perhaps in the summer when you are no longer in school. And then it was the idiot child look all over again. And let me tell you, Myon, a two hundred year old elf can give that look very well, indeed._

_Which is not to say, Myon, that I would not like to take six weeks to have you all to myself with contact with family and friends limited to a perhaps once-a-week dinner. Or perhaps once a fortnight. Or less often. Oh, think of it, Myon. We could if we wished spend weeks in bed. Well, essentially. With some other exercise._

_Mm. That will be my fantasy tonight. Whenever it is we take our honeymoon. I know you discussed travelling, and I am fine with this in essence. But I think I also wish to have many days to do not much more than fuck, eat, and sleep. I will imagine this takes place in our little bedroom in the Cottage, not because it ought to be there, but because it might and I can imagine it so very clearly, Myon._

_So very clearly; I see you kneeling on the edge of the bed while I stand behind you and fuck you from behind. I imagine this is something I will enjoy very much and I wonder if it will be good for you, or what I might do to make it so. Always I think this way in the various things I have wanted to do to you and for you. I always wonder, but would Myon like that?_

_There are so many things we have still yet to try, my delicious maenad._

_You are in my thoughts, always,  
_ _Viktor_

* * *

 _December 3, 199_  
_ _The Cross Hotel, Ely_

_My dearest Myon,_

_Today I have been a dervish of activity._

_We have sheets. I am assured that once our guests leave there will be ample time to have them properly embroidered, embellished, enspelled, and God knows what else the fabric elves declare is necessary. We have forty sets of sheets, with extra pillowslips._

_We have pillows. We have one hundred and sixty pillows because I have decided we do not yet need to outfit the nursery. Four for each bed. Two fluffy. Two somewhat firmer._

_Every powder room has soap. Every bath has a choice of lavender or sandalwood soap._

_Towels, we had._

_Candles, we did not. But we do, now. Twelve cases of a gross each beeswax candles, with more on order._

_We have the basic potions ingredients plus a few cauldrons set up in each of the brewing areas. I have laid in an extra stock of that wonderful cream for massages. I have acquired some basic first aid potions and put them in the ground floor lavatories. I have bought six cases of floo powder. This is, in case you were curious, quite a lot of floo powder._

_There has been a run on toilet paper in Wizarding quarters and it is entirely my own fault. But now, all forty-four toilets in The Curtain are well equipped, along with the six planned stalls in the Roman Bath._

_I have given my new personal elf, Tona, access to my vaults so that he can make purchases on behalf of the household when necessary between now and the time we combine our finances after the wedding, and I have discussed this with the head of the kitchens who is relieved to know we will be able to afford to feed our guests well._

_I have bought a selection of rainy-day magical games so there will be something beyond my two chess sets and Tona will see to their arrangement in the gaming rooms._

_Mory reports that the fabric elves are genuinely desolate that they will not have time to properly embroider the walls of the New Palace and of course it will be impossible once they are charmed impervious to all but a siege engine. I have suggested that after the coronation they consider adding panels to be hung in front and back which could be embroidered. As for content, I suggested the function of the room, for the front rooms, flowers for the side rooms, and water for the back rooms. Do note that you will have time to change this once you return if you wish to. Working at their highest speed they will be done no sooner than December 15th, then three days to install their work and then a rest, and then they will begin the process of weaving and dying again. A break to help out with coronation guests, and they will likely begin embroidering only after the coronation festival is finished._

_Though I am on vacation this week, I did receive an interesting letter from the owner of the Inferi today. The entire team, including coaches and staff, voted yesterday on where to have the Inferi Christmas party which often happens on the 27th of December. I don’t know if it would be right to say that we unanimously won the vote, or unanimously lost, but either way, everyone would like us to host the party. Players, coaches, staff, and the owner, which is twenty-five people, and all their spouses and children. Apparently it is usually an afternoon of games and socializing and a dinner afterwards._

_At this point, I am disposed to agreeing. That we will already have houseguests does not overly faze me, as it will mostly be family and they will be invited to mingle to the extent they wish. I believe it could all be hosted in the New Palace and within the Enclosure, and using the floo connection of the Great Hall._

_Of course I won’t respond until we discuss it, but unless you have grave objections, I think I would like this, Hermione._

_This of course has led me to consider other such outdoor games and I shall endeavor to pick some of those up tomorrow._

_I am also organizing flowers for each of the suites and each of the ground floor sitting rooms. Happily there are plenty of vases in the castle._

_I have begun to sketch out possible plans for a rose garden for you within the Enclosure. There are several distinct possibilities, and it might be quite nice to be able to watch the setting sun from a swinging bench with in it, but of course there are many questions here as well to consider, especially if the barns are put back into service with animals - it would not do to have the flowers too close to those who might wish to eat them._

_Ah, Myon. Such small things. Such details. But I would have you come to our new home and have it be effortlessly comfortable. That is my goal. You will have many other things on your mind including, I hope, me. Mama says this is the nesting instinct and that Papa had it before their marriage, too. She warned me it would come upon me suddenly and I did not believe her._

_Still, because of it we will certainly have pillows, soap, and toilet paper, and in enough time to be useful for all our guests._

_And for tonight? Tonight I will fantasize I am using that soap on you in our bath, my hands running all over your skin, holding your ribs, your breasts, your hips. I will dream of fucking you in our new sheets, and underneath your down blankets, surrounded by roses of many colors. And on pillows. Definitely. I will have my way with you on a pile of pillows, tonight._

_I know you are well, and though I miss you so, I am still so very glad that you are having this time with your parents at long last. I know you are no less precious to them as you are to me. And God forbid if I ever lost you, I would want you back no matter what. No matter what, Myon._

_I adore you._

_Always,  
_ _Viktor_

* * *

 _December 3, 199_  
_ _Malfoy Manor_

_To the honored Miss Lovegood,_

_Thank you for the latest piece of poetry. It was both moving and amusing, though I suppose that is to be expected now, for something coming out of your curated collection. That you yourself surprise me at every turn also, perhaps, ought to be expected now._

_I regret that I must decline your invitation to the Yule Ball at Hogwarts. I have pressing business on the evening of the twenty-first._

_Your servant,  
_ _DM_

_PS - Please don’t suppose I haven’t enjoyed our correspondence. I quite understand, however, if the calls on your time are such that a response is not forthcoming before we see each other on the twenty-third._

* * *

Luna stared at the letter in her hands, breakfast forgotten. Her brow crumpled in momentary sadness but quickly she took several deep breaths and calmed her tumultuous emotions. Once done she refocused on the letter with fresh eyes and saw all that he did not say, which might have filled a much longer letter.

It was clearly time to do something surprising.

Again.

* * *

 _The Day of Navarra, first year of the reign of Hermione of Avalon  
_ _The windswept highlands of Scotland,  
_ _strangely far away from any ley lines  
_ _and why would the founders do that, I wonder?  
_ _If only we happened to have access to the writings of one of the founders,  
_ _oh wait, I’m typesetting them as I speak, and it’s so fascinating  
_ _but I daren’t spoil the surprise yet._

_To my truculent Lord Malfoy,_

_I have it on good authority that your urgent business has dissolved in the face of my persistence. You can, after all, have a brandy and read on another night._

_I do not imagine returning to the castle will be such an initially pleasant endeavor for you, but it will offer, perhaps, an unparalleled opportunity for healing to occur, and not just your own._

_Allow me to be blunt. If you are not already sitting, now might be a good time._

_You could not possibly have killed Albus Dumbledore. You were a pawn, a distraction in order to occupy the time and attention of your parents so that their wealth, influence, and estate could be leveraged without them putting up a concerted or useful resistance. Happily, your mother was more than a match for Tom in the ways that count. He would have done better on the whole, I think, to attract followers from Gryffindor and Ravenclaw for whom ideals sometimes trump common sense. Slytherin and Hufflepuff are far too much concerned with family and stability in the end of all things, and are not afraid to put in the silent, tireless, and unseen work to achieve their ends. I am grateful to have nearly been sorted into Hufflepuff and I have always tried to foster in myself their ethic of hard work, though the support of a loving community has been harder to come by. That, I think, would have been the chief benefit of the badger den for me. Happily I found it this year._

_But I might have said no. At any point I could have distanced myself from people willing to love me in the purest and most genuine way they possibly could._

_I could have stayed in with a proverbial brandy and buried myself in my books, believing they were the only ones who could accept me the way I am._

_Instead I have decided to step out, albeit well-armed with dragon-tooth heels, in the company of those who treasure my presence, and risk the censure of those lesser minds who have on their path still quite a long way to go before the end. And I could focus on the censure, or the defence, or the small number of those who love me, but this is not the way to succeed. It is not the way to happiness._

_The road of success is paved by moments, I believe, in which we step out in complete confidence that this is where we are meant to be, this place and no other, this time and no other, with these people and no other, and that even if it seems momentarily unpleasant, these are the lessons we are meant to learn, the people we are meant to help, the moments we are meant to live and I have found, Lord Malfoy, that there is a great serenity in this knowing, and even a peace that is illogical when other factors are weighed more heavily than my own calm certainty. But when proper attention is paid to those things that matter most, the unnecessary slowly begins to dissolve, and true healing begins._

_Do not imagine, should you decide to attend the ball at my persuasion, that you will be alone, and I do not count only myself in this equation. Equally I am confident that you are never unarmed, and so we may face our demons together and have a lovely dance into the bargain._

_I have included a poem to help you make your decision. And lest you dread it, I promise to let you lead every dance._

_Your faithful correspondent and poetry curator,  
_ _Luna_

* * *

 _Another from Hafiz,  
_ _still translated by D. Ladinsky  
_ _out of_ _ I Heard God Laughing  
_ _'Cast All Your Votes for Dancing’_

 _I know the voice of depression  
_ _Still calls to you._

 _I know those habits that can ruin your life  
_ _Still send their invitations._

 _But you are with the Friend now  
_ _And look so much stronger._

 _You can stay that way  
_ _And even bloom!_

 _Keep squeezing drops of the Sun  
_ _From your prayers and work and music  
_ _And from your companions’ beautiful laughter._

 _Keep squeezing drops of the Sun  
_ _From the sacred hands and glance of your Beloved  
_ _And, my dear,  
_ _From the most insignificant movements  
_ _Of your own holy body._

 _Learn to recognize the counterfeit coins  
_ _That may buy you just a moment of pleasure,  
_ _But then drag you for days  
_ _Like a broken man  
_ _Behind a farting camel._

 _You are with the Friend now.  
_ _Learn what actions of yours delight Him,  
_ _What actions of yours bring freedom  
_ _And Love._

 _Whenever you say God’s name, dear pilgrim,  
_ _My ears wish my head was missing  
_ _So they could finally kiss each other  
_ _And applaud all your nourishing wisdom!_

 _O keep squeezing drops of the Sun  
_ _From your prayers and work and music  
_ _And from your companions’ beautiful laughter_

 _And from the most insignificant movements  
_ _Of your own holy body._

 _Now, sweet one,  
_ _Be wise.  
_ _Cast all your votes for Dancing!_

* * *

 _December 4, 199_  
_ _The Cross Hotel, Ely_

_My dearest Hermione,_

_We have outdoor games. Badminton, Lawn Croquet, and Bocce._

_I have met with the farming elves and had long, speculative conversations and tromped all over various forested and non-forested bits of the estate. No decisions were firmly made, but I do have a better sense of when work will need to begin to prepare for spring planting. (Really, the farming elves will need to get to work shortly after the coronation festival to properly prepare the fields and particularly the weather charms to lengthen the growing season and control irrigation for of course too much rain is just as devastating as not enough.) There is much to consult with the Centaurs concerning this, as they will aid in the farming and take a half portion of the crops._

_I understand we have seed for grain, but we will also want to consider in the spring obtaining the plants to create a berry field and several orchards of fruit and nuts, as well as seeds for various vegetables that seem good to us and the Centaurs both. Farther out, perhaps, once the rest of our crops are quite settled in, we might do well to consider more exotic crops including perhaps coffee and tea which once we get up to a certain level of excellence, and this admittedly might take a number of years, could be a potential cash crop to help support the estate._

_Again, Myon, I hope you do not mind that I have been playing lord of a manor not yet my own. But this is something I can bring to our relationship, training I have had that you lack, and while your December will I think, continue to be entirely busy, mine is filled with half days and only one Exhibition game. (There was one I missed this week, but I do not mourn it.) And besides, on all decisions of a larger scope I am performing necessary research only, and waiting until you return and we can discuss both them and my role. And when we have had such conversations, then I will be ready to execute your orders, or empowered to make my own on our behalf._

_Ah, Myon. All this talk of farming and pillows - have your eyes glazed over yet? I have gotten the perhaps mistaken impression that these are things at the best of times you would not wish to concern yourself with, had you the time and energy to pursue them, but perhaps I am quite mistaken? Perhaps you have extremely strong opinions on all these things, and my descriptions have not provided nearly enough information for I never mentioned the color of the sheets or the filling content of the pillows or the acreage of the fields or the length of the candles or the brand of soap. And yet when you described to me the work Narcissa is performing on the London townhouse and the Ramsgate cottage both, you provided fewer details than in your entirely inadequate description of electromagnetism, the latter of which seemed to pain you, the former of which caused you only to shrug._

_Am I correct, Myon? Do you not care above half so long as it is all done adequately and well? Well then, let me go into significant detail on a topic I know will entrance you._

_I miss you. (My longing is not exactly that topic, you understand, but it bridges the gap nicely between farming and sex, I think.)_

_I miss you, Myon. I imagine whispering that against the skin at the back of your neck, having swept your hair away, though still the scent of it fills my senses and reminds me of what is most important. ‘I miss you, Myon,’ I imagine I say against your skin and that somehow you can hear it where you are, you can feel the air rush over those tiny, sensitive hairs that make you shiver when I say things like this, here. And for the purposes of this moment, naturally I am unconcerned with timezones. It is my fantasy and in it our bedtimes are roughly comparable and not some fourteen hours apart at present. But I continue. You would perhaps sigh and arch your neck for a more thorough caress and who am I to say no? Adequate time must be spent making love to the skin of your neck, the sensitive earlobe, and down to the softly rounded shoulders that carry so much weight for such small things. A brief massage, perhaps, just to get out the worst of the knots but not enough to put you to sleep, for I am coming to know that is what will happen if I continue on too long in that vein. And for this evening, I do not want you to go to sleep too early. Rather, I must pay proper attention to your arms, Myon. So many interesting spots that bring you pleasure along your inner arms and I must exploit them all, but of course if I can reach them and your shoulders both, you are at the very least half naked (for which I can never complain) but this means you are also likely cold. So a warming charm or two would help, and lately it does seem to have a rather fascinating side effect that gives me immense satisfaction and pleasure to observe. I would be more impressed at your ability to feel my magic if I were not so thoroughly turned on by the way - oh, dear God, do I dare to say this, or have you intuited it all along? Oh, my beautiful and fiercely independent love, do not be offended if I say my ability to offer you warmth and fill a deficit of your own magic alone has the capacity to create yet another bond between us, a need of yours I can fill effortlessly and lovingly so. Oh, but my Myon, my exquisite Hermione, that this bond be- Oh, God, I can’t. I can’t hide behind such words as I would say to seduce you. I must be simple and plain so that you can tell me clearly if I have gone entirely too far._

_You know I enjoy being tied to your bed, Myon. I like being at your mercy. I like not having to be the one with all the answers, the one to direct every situation. And perhaps if I had been in war I might feel very different about being bound and restricted, but I have not and so I do not. And so I do understand that while you may consent to have me tied to your bed, I would never dream of asking to reverse these roles, and I have no desire to do so. Oh, but Myon, this does not mean I have no wish to dominate you in ways you would find primarily unexceptionable and as an important secondary measure, intensely pleasurable. And it seems, with the warming charm as it now stands between us, I have found such a way._

_Please know that I would never, never deny you warmth when you ask for it, nor use this power in any way to manipulate you in unpleasant ways._

_And now that I have said it slightly, I will say it more thoroughly and with the full force of my meaning. If I am to be chastised, I may as well be censured for the full measure of my desires._

_Hermione, I love dominating you, in those few moments when we do not act as complete equals. It is like riding a dragon while simultaneously fucking you (and in this moment you must not compare it to your actual experience of riding a dragon, and you must factor in my love of flying and ridiculously dangerous stunts), or perhaps better said, it is like you are the dragon and for the purposes of this metaphor we shall assume I am as well, but the fucking mid-flight remains the same. This domination takes nothing away permanently or temporarily from your power and strength and beauty, it only allows me to ride the very crest of it and claim you as my own._

_All this is present for me every time, now, that I cast the warming charm and see its effects on you. Warmth for you, yes, but also a spike of sexual pleasure and a deep awareness of me all around you, and a joy and pleasure at that, too. And for a moment at the base of my cock it feels like the dragons are flying and fucking and I am high, riding on your power and strength and beauty._

_And so in truth, my beautiful and powerful Myon, that is today’s fantasy. We are somewhere cold. There is snow all around. It is private though, and as you sit on my lap and ride me for your own pleasure, I am wrapping you in near constant warming charms, my eyes hooded, my hands sedately bracing me on the ground behind me as I lean back slightly. I watch you fuck yourself on me and I am quietly, intensely dominant over you. You scream in pleasure as I am simultaneously inside of you and surrounding you and it is all I can do to keep quiet, to stay in control as your allure and love unravel me. Focusing on casting the warming charms over different parts of your anatomy, not forgetting the head of your clit in a concentrated manner, does help. And when you come and lay on my chest, momentarily exhausted, then I will shift us and revive you, lay you back and eat you, but I will draw it out until you are begging me. And by this time I imagine my cock is weeping for you again and so if I am very good at this at this point, I will cause you to come just at the beginning of my fucking of you as you lay back and I on my hands and knees over you. And so then the fucking continues and you perhaps catch up just in time to be ready and energetic for something very hard indeed. At which point, I think, we will both be on our hands and knees and the hard fucking continues, along with the warming charms, and all the delicious while you are mine in every possible way and I will come so hard, Myon, because I love it so much. I love being dominant over you. I love fucking the dragon in all her power and beauty and strength._

_You are my dragon, Myon, in all the best of ways._

_And if this does not at all please you, well, I have every confidence that we will be able to discuss it and set boundaries where we are both comfortable. And until then, I will presume some measure of success rather than failure, as is my wont and you shall remain the dangerous and beautiful dragon of my dreams._

_All my love, forever,  
_ _Viktor_

* * *

 _December 5, 199_  
_ _The Cross Hotel, Ely_

_My dearest Myon,_

_I have explored one of the Orthodox churches on my list but alas it was too conservative for my tastes. It makes me realize that I had taken much for granted in my church back home and your church, too, in London. Having a wizard for a priest smooths over many theological brambles that might otherwise catch the unwary. But I am undaunted. I shall check the others on my list and I shall also write to Mama and Papa and see if they can gather me some recommendations. I care not if it is near a floo address, so long as it is a more all-embracing theology of love. (I had not realized it was so important to me until I was presented with such narrow mindedness. Terrible, Myon. I had to go for a swim to get rid of the feeling.)_

_I have finished my domesticity and nesting for now and though I did do all my proper round of exercises, I have spent the day finishing Pride and Prejudice and beginning Dune. In some ways they are so different and in others, surprisingly similar. I see what you mean about the self-serving con run by the religious order to ease crisis or inconvenience on their own part. _

_I did enjoy Pride and Prejudice, I should say. I do not know why that Mrs. Bennet did not know her children better and put forth the studious Mary to marry the inconvenient vicar, as they might have done well together and at least they would not have been bored together. It was a bit of a desperate move on Charlotte’s part to throw her best friend’s home life into such turmoil, but I suppose such inconstancy in friendship was rewarded by the insufferable nature of the man she was so eager to secure. I did not like Darcy’s first proposal, but I do understand no one is meant to like it and the whole point is the reformation of his character. But said reformation happened quite quickly and with no other intervention, which I find suspect, but perhaps that is from my own experience of seeing a stupid thing I have done, knowing it to be stupid, and still not quite understanding how to extract myself without help. (More than once, Myon, have I been called Idiot Child and more than once have I deserved it entirely.) I would say that Elizabeth’s complete unawareness of his attraction was quite unconvincing but, Myon, I have had ample examples in my own life of a beautiful and captivating woman brushing off and explaining away all the small demonstrations of attention and preference shown to her by interested parties. To whit, I speak of--_

_Ah! You are home! And I am not such an Idiot Child as to finish this letter._

_V_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Luna's poetic reference information is quite real; I did not compose it.


	32. Chapter 29, Part 1: Wherein Hermione returns to a stack of mail.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Also, we get to hear various things from various other characters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings! This chapter is 30 pages long, so I have broken it up into three uploads which will be tonight, tomorrow morning, and the morning after that. And then you'll have to wait as I write the next chapter. :) But the chapter after **that** is already mostly written. Well, partially written. Hard to know how long they'll be.

Hermione hugged her house elves. She couldn’t tell if they were getting along again, or not. But then they stood back from her and held hands. Hermione sat back on her heels and regarded them with her hands folded in her own lap.

“I’m glad you two have forgiven each other. I was quite worried that you might not.”

They were silent in the face of her fishing comment.

“Is there anything at all you’d like to tell me?” she asked, trying again.

Both moved slightly closer to the other. Both took an ear with a free hand and pulled the tip as far over their eyes as possible, to hide behind.

“Headmistress said to listen hard Sunday night, Monday morning for a call from you. And we searched and searched and could not find you anywhere. And Tampy went to talk with Miss Cissy, who said you were perfectly fine and with your parents, but we looked and your old house was empty, empty. And so Pampy went to talk with Mory because he can always find you, being your Head Elf, and you wearing the ring. And he searched and searched and finally he found you almost as far away as you could be. And then he told us about your parents. And Pampy told him what Miss Cissy said. And so he was very happy that you had your parents back and could be with them. And he said how hard it is for family to be angry with each other, or distanced from each other. And it is true. It is hard. So Tampy and Pampy decide to become friends again, best friends again, and go find father and brothers, since we are not needed for so many days. And Pampy decides to accept Mory’s suit. And Tampy accepts that she will probably find a mate among the Pendragon elves, but maybe not because there are many, many elves in the world and Master Krum’s family has elves, too. But Mory is a good elf and Miss is safe with him.”

Hermione blinked. This was more than they usually said. “I’m very glad you did all of that. I didn’t realize I ought to have told you where I was going. I’m not angry at you. You have nothing to fear. I’m really just thrilled that you’re friends again. Family is too precious to waste. Thank you for sharing all that with me. Now, would you be willing to go and prepare Viktor and I a bit of a snack before bedtime, and deliver it to our bedroom? Something savory and sustaining?”

They both grinned. “Yes, Miss!” And then they were gone.

Hermione took a deep breath and pushed herself up off her feet and went to go thank her brother profusely. When she walked into the common sitting room, he and Ginny and Neville were all there, reading and drinking cocoa and eating giant marshmallows. 

“Hallo,” she said almost on a whisper, leaning against the doorframe and taking in the domestic scene with pleasure. She loved being with her parents, and yet she missed her friends.

“Everything alright in Australia?” Ginny asked.

“Very much so. They haven’t decided if they’ll stay there or not, but now they’re just a house elf away, which is more or less what they would be if they lived in London.”

“Good,” Harry said with a rare wide smile. “They’re coming for the holidays, then?”

Hermione nodded and grinned. “Yes. The morning of the twenty-third. I think I’ll head out the evening of the twenty-second after the leaving feast so I can have a quiet moment with Viktor in our new home, but the next morning after breakfast I fully expect everyone to be arriving and you’re all more than welcome to come by floo, or Harry if you want to just all travel by elf and come and make yourself at home. I’ll let Luna know, too, though I know she enjoys the train ride.”

“Mind if I take the floo straight to Long Bottom?” Neville asked. “I wouldn’t mind missing the train ride, and I’ll join you all on the morning of the twenty-seventh.”

“No, that’s just fine,” Hermione said. “Harry. Thank you. Thank you for having the right answer to the right question and convincing them that you were right. Because you were right.”

Harry grinned brightly at her. “Not all my plans suck, Hermione,” he said.

Neville snorted with laughter and muttered, “No, but they mostly suck.”

Ginny threw a pillow at Neville’s head, which only made him laugh harder, and simultaneously she looked placidly at her husband. “You did a wonderful job, sweetheart. It was a very good plan. Ignore the badass with the sword. Swords weren’t involved with your plan, so he’s biased against it.”

Hermione tried to keep her laughter on the inside. She mostly managed. “And now, I’ll say goodnight. Running in the morning?”

A chorus of three yesses and goodnights followed her back through to her study as she closed the door.

Hermione closed her eyes and remembered what it was like to hold tight to Viktor in Australia, the sunglasses that shielded his eyes pressing into the side of her head as he held his lips close to hers, and visa versa. 

_ ‘Thank you! I love you so much!’  _ she had frantically whispered in his ear.

_ ‘I would do anything for you, Myon,’  _ he had whispered back.  _ ‘I love you, I love you, I love you.’ _

“Expecto Patronum!” she said with feeling and was suddenly awash in the feeling of her love for him. “I’m home,” she whispered to Viktor, her mind filled with the thought of sharing this feeling of love with him and specifically him, and the dog bounded away to the southeast.

Still glowing with happiness she pushed the sunglasses to the top of her head and went over to her desk, intending to shift the contents of her purse and prepare for the next day, but instead she was overwhelmed by the unopened mail in a messy pile. It looked like they were all from Viktor. She checked her boxes and yes, one message from Elizabeth that she pulled out, and one from Minerva probably about rescheduling the meeting with Headmaster Snape. She opened that one immediately, just in case it wasn’t, but it was. She made a mental note of the new meeting time and put the letter back on her desk.

Hermione carefully stacked the letters from Viktor in the order they had landed and opened the first delivered and was just starting to really get into it when she heard the fireplace whoosh from across the room, and saw her beautiful man step out with a grin on his face.

“Mm. Myon. God, I’ve missed you.”

She folded his letter meticulously, teasing herself with his presence even as he strode across the room toward her. She put it on the top of the reorganized pile and squared the pile in the center of her desk. She would grab them after her run tomorrow and savor them over breakfast.

And then he was there next to her behind the desk, pulling her toward him and devouring her mouth. She sighed and then she groaned and then she hitched one leg up around him, as far up as she could. Viktor hauled her up the rest of the way, grabbing her firmly by the bottom and hoisting her up and then pushing her gently against the tapestry behind her as she locked both legs around his waist.

His lips left her mouth and he groaned against her throat. “Hermione, tell me you missed me.”

She smiled. “I did, you know. I missed you so. It helped to tell my parents all about you. Mum’s glad you’re such a stud. She says my life has been hard enough and I deserve every orgasm you give me. She’s thrilled we’re only waiting in the ways we want to for the blood magic ritual.”

Viktor snorted in laughter against her throat. “I see our mothers will have much to discuss and will get along quite well. Good. And your father?”

Hermione giggled, quite enjoying her position and Viktor’s lips against her throat and his hard cock at the juncture of her thighs. “He was less interested in the sordid details. But he was quite keen on knowing there was parity and equality and both affection and attraction on both sides. He was relieved to be assured once again what a well-rounded individual you are, and he was so grateful for the care you took of me in their absence. You have a firm place in both of their hearts, my love.”

Viktor leaned up and looked into her eyes and then softly, so softly kissed her lips, licking and nipping and licking.

“Every night when finally I could sleep a little,” she said, in between kisses, “though I never could sleep much, or for long, I would imagine you there with me in the little guest bedroom in a magically enlarged bed quietly making love to me, every night, and every night we would remember all over again we could cast wards of silence around us and then I would ride you hard and you would fuck me good until I screamed out how good you felt, and once, once I imagined we just ate each other out all night, over and over again until our mouths and tongues were sore, until I could do nothing more than just lay there idly licking your half hard cock and all you could manage was to nibble on my labia. But then your cock would get hard again and my pussy would be so slippery and we would just eventually give in and you would thrust your hard cock deep inside of me and while I’m still not quite sure exactly what that would feel like, I’ve been imagining a wide variety of things and they’re all lovely.”

“Give us more time, Beautiful. You’ll be able to sleep all night tonight, when I’m done with you.”

Hermione grinned. “I was hoping you’d feel that way. I ordered a snack for about a half hour from now, in the bedroom.”

“Good,” he growled as she fished out the golden chain from underneath her shirt and looped it around his neck. “Five,” he insisted. “I have missed time to make up for.”

She wound the control knob and as she released and held very carefully to the external ring of the machine Viktor bit her neck and she moaned his name as the time spun backwards and the sun came back in through the windows.

Her pussy throbbed with need and longing. She was so juicy and she so badly wanted him on the inside.

“It’s only twenty-six days,” she gasped as he kept sucking strongly. “It’s silly to have waited all this time and to break down and beg you for penetrative sex just twenty-six days away from when we can have it as often as possible. And it might not live up to expectations--”

They were moving across her study, Hermione clutched in Viktor’s arms. The door opened before them and he kicked it shut behind them.

“--and, and,” she said, her hands holding his head firmly to her neck so he would keep up the delicious feeling that was rocking her body. “You said it might not be good at first, so I shouldn’t-”

Viktor growled and released her neck. “Perfect,” he said sharply, pulling her away and tossing her into the center of her bed. He ripped his hooded jumper over his head and flung it away from himself. “I said it would not be  _ perfect,  _ Myon,” he said, his tone still rough, still almost angry but somehow not. He kicked his shoes off while he unbuckled his belt, still staring at her. She was mesmerized. And not moving. He was like some sort of beautiful, wild, voracious  _ beast,  _ and it turned her on so hard.

“It will be good,” he said, undoing his trousers and shoving them down his legs, kicking them off. “It will be good for me and it will be good for you,” he said, tugging her shoes off as she fumbled to get her waistband open. Impatient, he helped. “It will be so good, Myon.” He pulled her jeans off, quickly tugging this way and that until he could fling them across the room. “And if you want me to fuck you now, oh, Myon,  _ I will fuck you now.”  _

But he didn’t give her a chance to decide anything because then his head was between her legs and he was kissing and sucking and licking and she was so jacked up on the feeling all she could do was helplessly thrust into his mouth and scream a little each time.

* * *

To skim for content and reread later at leisure, or to thoroughly savor as much as possible the first time through. Hermione had a stack,  _ a stack  _ of letters from her Viktor and the only question on the table (the breakfast table, as it happened to be) was if she should give them a quick initial read through, or to just savor them from beginning to end. She waffled so much staring at the pile of letters in front of her that Ginny asked her what was going on.

When Hermione explained herself, Ginny glared.

“Don’t you  _ dare _ skim that man’s letters. Those things are works of art. I’ve only read the one and it nearly brought me to tears.”

Neville’s head popped up. “Wait, you read one of Viktor’s letters? For real? What are they like?”

“The man writes with his own heart’s blood,” Ginny testified with one hand over her heart. It was the wrong hand, of course, but Hermione didn’t suppose that mattered.

Ginny continued, possibly not noticing Hermione’s smirk, possibly not caring.

“He’s as eloquent as the day is long.”

Neville was nodding. “Yeah, he would be, wouldn’t he? Merlin. When I grow up, I want to be like Viktor.”

The conversation continued on and was joined by Luna, though not Tommy and Negash, and finally Hermione was convinced to let Neville and Luna read  _ just that one letter.  _ Mostly because Ginny couldn’t stop gushing about it, and Harry wasn’t helping by throwing in the occasional, “Yep, totally right.” And at least, Hermione reasoned, all her friends would be on the same page.

Literally.

When the pages were folded and handed back, Luna breathed out, “Really, so beautiful.” Neville chimed in, “Well,  _ I’d  _ marry him.”

When everyone stared at him with eyebrows raised he added, “Well, I mean, I like girls and all, but I’ve gotten a lot of proposals recently and none of them looked like that. And if one of them  _ had  _ I’d… probably be married right now. And if someone loved me that much, I’m… just... not... sure...  _ gender _ would be an issue in figuring out if I could love them back. Pretty sure love would be the issue.”

“Excellently put, Neville,” Luna said, laying her head on his shoulder. “Love should always be the issue.”

“So what are Draco’s letters like?” Ginny asked, gently changing the subject quite possibly to get the heat off Neville.

“Formal. Sweet. Humorous. Tentative. Fragile. Everything scares the hell out of him. But I’m making progress.”

Hermione blinked. What on earth would that be like? It was so different from the way Viktor expressed himself, eloquent yes, but never formal, sometimes sweet, often humorous in a very dry way, but also raw and beautiful and so, so hot. Even when he wasn’t confident in his position he still was so clear, so kind, and so open. Well, now he was open. And clear. Admittedly that first confusing letter was… well, confusing. But when she’d responded back with the barest bit of flirting - well, perhaps mentioning that she was drooling over his pictures, calling him edible, and imagining what his arms and chest would feel like while he held her were just a tad beyond the ‘barest bit of flirting’, well… that rather opened the floodgates of passion and Hermione had been gladly drowning in the torrent of it ever since.

Hermione opened the first letter and started to reread what she’d begun the night before, waiting for him. She drank her tea and savored as much of his letters as she could over breakfast before her first class of the day: blood magic tutoring.

* * *

As she walked through the hallways in between her morning classes she read his letters. In her first break of the day before lunch she just went to the Great Hall early, as so many did, using it as a study space in between meals, and sat down at her normal place and read and read and read.

She discovered, belatedly, that she  _ really  _ should have read his last delivered letter alone. She discovered this as Tommy and Negash joined her, plopped their books and scrolls down, and grabbed some apples to tide them over as they studied.

“How come your face is so red?” Tommy asked, full of innocence after Hermione had greeted them somewhat distractedly.

Hermione closed her eyes and sent a silent prayer to a God she wasn’t sure cared about such small things as her embarrassment, but it was worth a try anyway.

She folded up Viktor’s hottest, sexiest letter yet and held it between her hands. She looked over at Tommy.

“Tommy, first of all, don’t speak with your mouth full. Wait until it’s empty again. Second, when someone’s face is red and they haven’t been exercising, or the room isn’t very hot, and there’s no other reason you can see, then it might be that something has just embarrassed them, and they’re blushing. And if that’s the case, it’s best to just ignore it and know that they’ll share if they want to.”

Tommy thought about this for a moment. “Did you want to share then?”

Negash dropped his head into his open hands, across the table.

Hermione laughed despite herself, and pulled the stack of Viktor’s bound letters out of her purse and added the one she hadn’t quite finished but certainly wouldn’t now into its appropriate place as the penultimate letter. As she tied the ribbon back again, she answered him, still somewhat laughing. “No,” she said plainly.

“Oh,” he said, somewhat disappointed. “How come?”

Hermione burst out laughing.

“Ow,” Tommy said, and glared at Negash who had obviously just kicked him under the table.

“Because it’s  _ private _ , Tommy. Not everything gets shared. Some things are just beautiful and private things that we keep to ourselves,” Hermione responded, getting her fountain pen and some paper out of her purse. If she couldn’t quite finish his letters, she could certainly start a response to some of the many domestic questions he had put to her.

Tommy sniffed at this. “If I had something beautiful and private, I’d still share it with my friends. Like when you got me those chocolates and candies for my birthday? I shared them in the common room. That’s what you do when you have something nice, Hermione. You share it with friends.” His look was the look of a parent schooling a child. It was hilarious.

Hermione grinned. “And often that is the case. When I was given a cake for my birthday, I shared it, and  _ you  _ ate some. But I was also given a pair of boots for my birthday. Lovely, gorgeous things. But I don’t share those. Because some gifts aren’t meant to be shared. They’re meant for your use alone. And even if people know you’ve gotten them, they still recognize that they’re private, and not meant to be shared.”

“My mum sometimes wears her sister’s boots,” Tommy said gamely, apparently out to win this one.

At this point Negash’s head was on the table, face down, on top of his folded arms and he was groaning softly.

“But does she wear her sister’s pants?” Hermione shot back, not willing to lose a rhetorical argument to an eleven year old.

“Eww!” Tommy exclaimed. 

“See? Some things are private. And you don’t share them.”

Tommy scrutinized her. “Did someone send you pants?”

Hermione snorted. “Stop fishing,” she said clearly. “I’m not telling you. You don’t get to know. It’s private, which means I’m not telling you.”

Tommy sighed the sigh of anguish and defeat and pulled out his homework. “Adults are no fun,” he grumbled.

Hermione continued to snicker as she unscrewed the pen cap.

* * *

_ December 6, 199_  
_ _ The Great Hall,   
_ _ Adjacent to Inquisitive First Years _

_ My beautiful man, _

_ You would not believe the conversation I just had, interrupted as I was in your penultimate letter. But let me put your mind at ease in, I hope, all ways. _

_ Thank you so much for getting toilet paper, pillows, sheets, and the rest. Thank you for all your efforts to make our home comfortable. I particularly appreciate the toilet paper. _

_ No, I haven’t thought of any of those things.  _

_ Yes, I’d be thrilled if you would handle that. (All of those thats.) We can discuss it this evening, if that suits. I was sort of hoping that all of the wedding guests could be accommodated at the castle, but actually working out who and where would be a good thing. I mean, we did promise that they could be accommodated at the castle, so we probably should get on that. _

_ Please, please be lord of the manor. Don’t just play at it. Own it. You’re right - I really don’t care so long as it’s done well, and it’s not a burden to you. If it does become a burden, I hope you’ll tell me, and we’ll work something else out. _

_ I’ll arrange a meeting between us, Augusta, and Narcissa to discuss wards, if you don’t mind. Perhaps an hour in the evening tomorrow could suffice, and perhaps you would take me out to dinner afterwards? It’s been ages. Narcissa did warn me in general terms that to ward the estate would take a team on brooms, and I was sort of hoping that would be something that you and I and Harry and Ginny could accomplish. One day I might feel comfortable doing it on a solo broom, but for now the tandem would be a good idea. I would add Neville to the equation, but he’s as bad on a broom as I am. Though conceivably he could ride tandem behind Harry, if he’s willing, and if we get another tandem broom. He’s remarkably brave, and Ginny could always fly in formation behind, to catch him if he falls off. I’ll talk with Neville about this soon. _

_ I do like the idea of extra security within the Enclosure, and it’s also worth talking with Mory about. _

_ So. Mory gave you the idiot child look? I wish I could have seen it. Oh, Viktor. I wish I could have seen it. Pampy accepted him, by the bye. So I suppose we’ll see them mid February. Just about the time of your birthday, I think.  _

_ I’m so glad you’ve done all the research that you have. I’m thrilled. And I officially empower you to act on our behalf, and I only ask that you keep me updated on what is going on. Very occasionally I might have a preference, and it would be nice to talk about things before they are six months accomplished. For instance, I would love to have a rose garden in which we could watch the sunset without fear that future goats would eat it. But wards, perhaps, would suffice for that. Still, I also would not want it to be in the way of the elves, and so I would want their input on inoffensive placements of it. _

_ And I have been dreaming, though it might not be quite the thing, of having the climbing concordia over the Enclosure wall, assuming it does not interfere with the protective wards that can be activated at need. Which we also need to discuss with Mory. _

_ So the Inferi voted in your absence? I find this hilarious. Yes, do let’s host them. I leave the details in your capable hands. Tell me when to show up and what the dress code is. _

_ Studiously avoiding certain topics while in the presence of my little friends as it feels terribly wrong… and yet… when we have children, it’s not like I’m going to find you less handsome. Or desirable. Oh, Viktor, I think I need to have a long talk with Mama and find out just how she managed to bring you up in the presence of all those flowers and still have you be such a balanced individual, aware of your feelings, and remarkably comfortable with your sexuality. _

_ Oh, what the hell. _

_ Yes. _

_ Yes. _

_ Yes. _

_ Yes to the point that I’ll want to focus on you rather than small details of hosting. To that end, I’m moving in directly after the leaving feast on the 22nd. I anticipate arrival by 8:30 PM at the very latest, and no one else is arriving until the next morning. _

_ Yes to the point of prospective honeymoon activities. Yes, yes, yes! _

_ Yes to the all-encompassing issue of what the warming charm brings out in you. I wasn’t even able to finish your complete argument on the subject, but it was as compelling as I have come to expect from you. And have no doubt I’ll go over it with a fine-toothed comb later, possibly several times just to make sure I haven’t missed anything, of course. I do so like to be thorough, Viktor, and I know that is a trait we share. _

_ Perhaps we should take a walk by the sea this evening. I imagine I could get cold, but of course, you’ll be there to keep me warm, won’t you? _

_ Oh, God. Now I’m aching for it, to be surrounded by your magic. To be warm, and loved, and cared for. And teased. And now that I know you truly don’t mind being my personal heater, there’s one less, I don’t know, emotional barrier. Also now one or two more points in support of it, as well. I will, I think, even once I have thoroughly read and reread pertinent passages of your letter, Viktor… I will want you to say it all again, in person. Because you’re right - I’ll never want to be bound in any way, and for your information, we will never use such harsh ropes on you again, at least not without a soft something between them and your wrists, and if you don’t like that, too bad. But this? For me? _

_ Fuck, Viktor. _

_ Twenty-five days, and I’m wracked by a desperate ache. You know exactly what it is, and you know exactly what I want. _

_ Ending this letter before I’m a complete mess and have to answer the knowing looks of my older set of friends who are perfectly well aware what an utterly sexy beast you are. Not that I’ve been so explicit, of course, but it’s not a particularly large cognitive leap. _

_ Damn it, they’re here. Time has run out. Fuck, fuck, fuck. And I’m obviously aroused. Shit. _

_ Wrecked with longing,  
_ _ Hermione _

_ PS- Ginny’s laughing hysterically. Annoyingly observant thing she is. I’m calling my owl, now, and getting this off to you without delay. _

* * *

_ December 6, 199_  
_ _ Malfoy Manor _

_ Dear sister, _

_ Thank you for the invitation to your wedding, and for the extended stay at what I have been given to understand is the most adorable castle in Wales. I have duly sent in my response to Madam Potter with whom, I suppose, I am now slightly less distantly related than before. _

_ How fate does love her little jests at all our expense. _

_ If I may ask you in confidence, just how serious is Luna? Is the reformation of death eaters an amusing pastime for her? Mother is urging with ever more insistence that I consider proposing before the door of opportunity closes, but it’s not entirely clear to me it is open. If the door in front of me is not just an illusion made for amusement’s sake, I would prefer to know if it contains a yawning abyss just beyond the frame. _

_ Contemplatively yours,  
_ _ DM _

_ PS- William Shakespeare’s  _ _ A Comedy of Errors _ _ is utterly ridiculous nonsense and I find myself liking it against my better judgement. I still hate it when you’re right, you know. _

_ PPS - Pair the cheese with a strong rye cracker and top it with a sweet pickle unless you particularly enjoy extraordinarily strong cheese, unadorned. _

* * *

_ December 6, 199_  
_ _ Hogwarts Castle _

_ Brother dear, _

_ She’s utterly serious. At this risk of breaking her confidence, I tell you this. And my own opinion of that door, well, if you could ever stand watching a muggle movie or two, there are certainly some well-told stories worth engaging in. And this moment reminds me of a scene from one of them. The young protagonist is warned before he walks into a magical place not to bring weapons with him, but he does anyway. And he later comes to understand that the only thing he met in that fearful place were the fears he brought with him.  _

_ There may be a yawning abyss in your life, but I do not think it is behind that door, Draco. Beyond that door is the brightest light you could encounter. And it seems from my outside perspective that Luna is working night and day to take the hinges off and break the thing up for kindling to be used at a bonfire in celebration of how good she thinks you two could be together. I mean, I’m sure there are ways you could ruin every opportunity you’ve been given, but you seem too smart for that. _

_ Then again, what the hell do I know? It took me years to figure out Viktor was in love with me, and the only possible person who could make me this happy. Take all the time you need. But know that the goodness Luna sees in you is no illusion, and it’s not going anywhere, and neither is she. And the fear you feel has no bearing on who you really are. _

_ Trust me. I’m a know-it-all. _

_ Your loving sister,  
_ _ Hermione _

_ PS- working on making you a non-hereditary duke. Will report back as to success on venture. _

_ PPS - send wine by Friday, preferably paired with this cheese. You are underwriting my reputation as hostess. Don’t let me down, Draco. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are we having fun yet?


	33. Chapter 29, Part 2: Wherein Hermione returns to a stack of mail.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our chapter continues...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's all MisoSoupy: A plot bunny bit me while I was responding to her comment, and so now I'm also writing this other what-if, in the same universe with the same characterizations, only 18 months earlier.
> 
>  ** _IT WILL BE SHORT._** Or else. Look for it in the coming days, or just subscribe to me as an author on ao3 and you'll be notified when I post it. (But yes, it will be Hermione/Viktor, and yes there will be lemons. I mean, it is me writing it.)

Harry approached her at the entrance to the Great Hall with a grin on his face.

“Guess what?” he said, flinging his arm around her shoulders as they walked into dinner.

Hermione gave him a narrow glance. “Something good, but I’m not sure what. Does it have to do with all the time you’ve been spending in the library lately?”

“Yup,” he said, grinning.

She stared at him further. “I don’t suppose you’ve managed to get Madam Pince’s stamp of approval, then?”

 _“Yup!”_ he beamed. “She’s going to write me a letter of recommendation by the end of the week, and she’s advising me on how to structure my request for apprenticeship for Alexandria. It’ll be a bonus, she says, because I don’t want to live there and they won’t have to support me like that, but I’ll still have to figure out daily transportation until I’m capable of _Walking the Stacks._ ‘Mione, it’s just like Luna said. Sufficiently large magical libraries, and you can walk between them. If you know what you’re doing. And don’t get lost in time and space. But I’ve done that before, and it wasn’t that hard to get back again. And anyway, while Hogwarts isn’t nearly large enough, the British Library is, almost even without the magical collection. Same thing with the Library of Congress in the US. There’s another three in China, and a few others in Europe, one in Ethiopia, and one in Peru.”

Hermione was grinning. She wrapped an arm around his waist and leaned in to kiss his cheek as they walked down the aisle between tables. “I _knew_ you could do it! Harry, you’re so intelligent, and you’re such a powerful wizard, when you actually choose to focus on something, you always manage to do it. I’m so proud of you.”

“Well, I don’t know about all that. Save the accolades till they accept me, them or some master librarian, somewhere. But this is a solid start, I will say. I’m hoping to have a decent draft of an application letter by the end of the week. Once I’ve gotten Madam Pince’s niceties down, would you and Gin read it over for me? Help me make it as good as it can be?”

She squeezed his waist again. “Of course.”

They went their separate ways at the table so Hermione could sit across the table and as others filtered in, she saw his face fall. His voice was softer when he addressed her, this time.

“‘Mione, you don’t think I’m just running away, do you? From responsibility or something? Wanting to just help you sort out your library? Hiding in Wales, kind of thing?”

“It doesn’t matter to me,” Hermione said baldly. “I will never criticize anyone’s decision to spend their life with their nose in a book.”

Harry snorted and almost smiled. “Yeah. I suppose that was the wrong question to the wrong person.”

“For what it’s worth,” Neville said, having joined them and starting to load his plate with dinner, “I don’t think you’re running away. It’s your life. Gran always said that no matter what you’ve got to find what you love and do it. Your reasons are your own. Your love is your own. Everything else will work itself out, if you can manage to do what you love. The only tricky bit is being honest with yourself and figuring out what you love. I mean, I thought it would just be herbology for me, but then this opportunity with Hermione came along, and it’s just so exciting, and also I still love herbology. Not sure what one is going to have to do with another, but I’ve just stopped worrying about it.”

“Speaking of which,” Hermione said quietly to Neville, “remind me to bring you in on some things Viktor is taking over in the estate management. It involves plants and growing things, and so might be of interest.”

Neville’s eyes lit up. He turned to Harry. “See? It all works out. You’re not running _away._ You’re running _toward._ Totally different, mate.”

* * *

Hermione was enjoying the novel experience of not being ahead on her homework. It’s not that she was _behind, per se._ She was just neck-and-neck with her deadlines. And… she wasn’t worrying about it.

She could, of course, worry about it. She’d considered it as an option.

Option A: She could study and work somewhat frantically, having re-embraced the idea that to not be ahead _was_ to be behind. Choosing this option would mean not spending the evening with Viktor, but at least getting to crawl into bed with him.

Option B: She could not study and work frantically, but still re-embrace the idea that to not be ahead was to be behind. She would spend the evening with Viktor, but fret the entire time.

Option C: She could let go of the need to constantly be ahead and embrace the possibility that simply staying current was a truly viable option, and meant that she had time to look over floor plans and prospective menus while snuggled up to Viktor at the Round Table.

“You know, how do you feel about having little name cards on the doors to each suite? And maybe giving the salons names, even if it’s just ‘the orange salon’, with a little card on those doors, too?” Ginny asked.

Hermione nodded. “Great houses who’ve had monarchs stay usually name the suite after them. But I like the way Maria put it - the Monarch of the Isle. Let’s name Elizabeth’s suite the Monarch of the Isle’s Suite, and Charles’ can be the Prince of Wales Suite, and everyone else can just get their names on the door.”

“Well, except yours,” Ginny pointed out, sitting on the other side of Viktor, who had his sheets of schematic drawings splayed out in front, cross referencing the rooms with Ginny’s RSVP list and a list of house elves. “Yours should be the Pendragon Regent’s Suite.”

“Or Monarch of Avalon,” Viktor posited. “It’s a nice juxtaposition.”

They all agreed on it, and as Viktor was penciling in names to suites, Hermione brought up Elizabeth’ suggestion in regards to the Pendragon alternative to indoor plumbing.

“Right,” Ginny agreed as Viktor continued to write in names and make notes on Ginny’s RSVP list. “Well, that’s easily done. I can do that, and just duplicate them all, maybe affix it to an alternate color paper behind, and then stick it to inside of the door. Could also tell them which salon they’re invited to use, and the name of their house elf. I’ll do the name tags, too, if you like.”

Hermione nodded. “Don’t forget to do a double set for you two and for Draco as well. I mean, yours is settled, soon-to-be Duchess Black Pendragon. His I’m going to start working on with my next letter to Elizabeth.”

Ginny leaned into the table and stared at Hermione across Viktor. “So you really are going to do it, then?”

“He’s come a long way,” Hermione defended.

“Not arguing, not arguing,” Ginny said, raising her own hands in defence. “Wow. Okay. So, what’s his style?”

“Duke Black Malfoy, if I can manage it.”

“Have you told Luna she’s going to be a duchess?”

Hermione snorted indelicately and leveled a gaze at Ginny. “Do you think she’d actually care at all?”

Ginny seemed to think about that for a moment. “Yeah, no, nevermind. Good point.”

“What is the name of your elf, Ginny?” Viktor asked.

“Trip. He’s absolutely lovely, by the way. Why? Do we need to share him? We can, it’s fine with us.”

“Mm. Yes,” he said. “Several will likely bring their own elf, but some things will still need to be managed by Pendragon elves, water and so forth.”

“Of course, of course. All hands on deck.”

“Except for Tampy. Hermione, I want you to be able to call on her whenever you need to, and I would feel better if she accompanied you while you are outside of the Enclosure, unless you are with me, or Neville, or Harry, or Ginny.”

Hermione’s knee-jerk reaction was somewhat complicated.

She could take care of herself.

The large crowds might actually be terrifying.

If something minor did happen, would she have the same sort of over reaction like she’d had with her ley lines tutor?

If something major did happen, shouldn’t they have an emergency plan in place?

Her stomach dropped.

“Primary evacuation should be to the Curtain,” she whispered with unseeing eyes. “It was made to be highly defensible. Secondary evacuation perhaps to Black Cottage, but we’ll make sure the wards are back in place. Tertiary evacuation, Australia. I should have set wards before I left.”

Viktor put the pencil down and shifted so he could wrap both arms around her. “These are precautions only, Myon.” He kissed the top of her head. “It will not be like it was. Tom is dead. Bellatrix is dead. There are only less organized fools remaining. We will discuss this with Narcissa and Augusta tomorrow. Breathe, Myon. Shhh, breathe, Myon. Deep in, slow out. Deep in, slow out.”

After a moment of trying to be calm, Hermione wriggled out of his embrace so she could get up and pace. She did try to modulate her breathing, however.

“Or should secondary evacuation be to The Rosary?” Hermione had her new wand out and was fiddling with it as she paced.

“Yes, it should, but that is not important right now, Myon. What is important is for you to calm down. You’ve been triggered, Myon. This is not a normal reaction you’re having.”

She nodded rather spasmodically. “I think… I should go for a run. I have a lot of energy right now. I’ll go get my shoes.”

She made for the door, but Viktor got up and halted her with his words. “Barefoot running on the beach. Much more difficult. Will wear you out faster. Come. I go with you. Keep you warm and safe.”

He called to Tona and directed the young elf to let the Headmistress know that he was taking Hermione for a run and they would be back within the hour. Hermione went directly through the floo and was pacing in front of it, waiting for Viktor.

_What was taking him so long?_

Finally, _finally,_ he stepped through the floo and cleaned himself off. 

“Shoes,” he said, and pulled out a chair for her, and then sat in another one as he took his shoes off. Hermione didn’t sit, but kicked her shoes off and then stood one one foot and then the other to take her socks off.

_Was he just moving more slowly this evening? Was he doing this on purpose?_

She paced as she waited for him and then when he was finally read she made for the door. She walked ahead and quickly down the lawn to make for the arch that demarked the safe pathway to a bit more lawn, and then the sea. Viktor had caught up to her quickly as she knew he could and silently paced her down the lawn, through the archway, and down to the sea.

And then they ran.

It was much harder to run on dry sand, like a nightmare of running faster and faster and only going backwards, so they moved over and ran in the surf on the wet sand, which was still quite difficult but not frustratingly impossible.

He kept her feet just barely warm, but she didn’t want more. She wasn’t doing this to be comfortable, after all. And the comfort of being wrapped up in his magic was, right now, not quite as helpful as it sometimes was.

Hermione, after all, wasn’t looking for soft comfort. And since no one could assure her sufficiently that she really was safe, that there was no more threat anywhere, ever, _she had to stay vigilant. Constant vigilance._ For herself. For Harry. For Viktor. For Ginny and Neville and Luna and Draco.

She sprinted down the wet sand, and he paced her. When they hit a place of predominant rocks several minutes in, they turned back and sprinted down the other way, passing the Cottage and continuing on. They had gone perhaps as far again in that direction when Hermione finally felt slightly better and significantly less buzzy inside and so she slowed to a gasping walk, turning around and coming back.

In silence, they returned back up the slope to the Cottage and Hermione’s feet were cleaned as she walked across the lawn, but then one final evanesco finished the job before she walked into the house. She sat heavily in the chair and put her socks and shoes back on and when she stood, Viktor was there beside her. She held him around his waist and leaned her head into his chest.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

One more deep breath, one more sigh and then she let go, and they went back home again.

* * *

“Off galavanting, then?”

Hermione looked placidly at the portrait of the man in black. It was a landscape and as close as he came, possibly as close as he could come to the frame, he still had to be a little shouty.

“I’m back now, thank you.”

“How may I help you, Your Majesty?” It might have been a gracious phrase from someone else, but it certainly wasn’t from him.

“Under what conditions might you consent to have a second full portrait painted? This would be to enable you to participate in Round Table discussions to the degree you wish to participate.”

An eyebrow went up. Arms crossed over his chest.

“Three things. Non-negotiable.”

Hermione didn’t blink. “Name them, please.”

“I wish to be painted against the backdrop of the British Library.”

“That should be easy enough,” she commented placidly. “Next?”

“You will never in your lifetime mute me.”

There were other options for recalcitrant paintings, Hermione had discovered, and surely the Headmaster knew that as well. “Acceptable. Next.”

“You have Minerva mute Phillys.”

Hermione nodded slowly, thinking about how to go about that one. “I cannot guarantee that. But I will work to bring it about. Providing that I’m able to, you consent?”

“Under those conditions, yes.”

“Excellent. I have Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth’s blessing to knight you posthumously, and there are several questions that need to be answered to this point. As you are still quite yourself, there will be an oath of fealty. It need not be much, and certainly no more than you are willing to offer. Four gentlemen, including yourself, will be knighted and I fully expect each oath to be quite different. Will you be prepared at the time with something suitable and not at all onerous for you to carry out?”

“Of course,” he scoffed.

“Are there any family members, or other persons you would wish to be present at the ceremony on your behalf?”

He scoffed again. “Family members? Hardly. May they all rot in hell.” Then there was a pause as he was nonchalantly examining his fingernails. “I suppose Lucius Malfoy is dead, then?”

“Close enough,” Hermione replied.

“And Draco and Narcissa as well,” he said, and it was not a question.

Hermione accidentally gave him a searching look. He really must have been out of frame quite a lot. “They are quite well, and rebuilding their lives. They were found not guilty, and both still sit on the Wizengamot.” She left it at that.

“Them, then.”

“I shall make sure they are present.”

“What else, then?” he asked, arms crossed over his chest again.

“Your full name?”

“Severus Septimius Snape.”

She nodded, making a mental note of it. “I just want to be clear, Headmaster. I’m asking you to advise me when you are willing and able to do so.” She paused a moment. “Nothing more than you wish to offer.”

“Is that all?” he asked.

“One more thing. The painting on the third floor of the man feeding seagulls, that’s the one to my suite.”

He raised an eyebrow. _“If_ you are able to mute Phillys, you may expect to find me in frame regularly and we may speak there. If you are not, then I will see you in February, Your Majesty.”

And then he was gone again and the landscape stood placidly, as if he had never been.

* * *

 _December 7, 199_  
_ _Pendragon Suite_

_Minerva,_

_Well. The meeting with the Headmaster went as well as it could go. His conditions for being painted again are not so dreadful, but the last will be up to you. I’m sorry to put this pressure on you, but he does say that if it is accomplished he will regularly be in frame, so there is that. He wants you to mute Phillys. I looked her up. Interesting list of accomplishments, but I will say no more, there._

_If you can accomplish it, will you also provide me with a few (or at least one) good names for portrait painters? It seems I’ll need quite a lot of them done in the next few years. And possibly might I be able to use the pensieve with the portrait painter at some point? There are a few memories of the Headmaster in a different light I’d like to share with the painter, and if you have any at all of him laughing or smiling, I wonder if you might let us borrow them temporarily for the cause of a portrait that does not default to scowling? Just a thought._

_Thank you again for your forbearance,  
_ _Hermione_

* * *

 _December 7, 199_  
_ _Office of the Head_

_Your Majesty,_

_Done and done. Reordering the paintings is a prerogative of the Head at midnight upon each solstice and the top two rows are in silence and darkness, though of course they can shift frame if they wish to do so. I have decided that Headmistress Hufflepuff, despite the fact that she does not speak a word of modern English, should be further down, along with, for now, an unmarked painting and equally empty frame that could prove at the very least interesting, particularly given that I now recognize the backdrop. It is the Pendragon Castle. Make of that what you will. And certainly there are several headmasters and mistresses who can translate from English to Latin for Helga, if she wishes it._

_Attached you will find the names and directions for the five best portrait painters that I am aware of in western Europe. You will wish to have Neville write to them in his role as Secretary and request a copy of their portfolios, which will need to be returned eventually. Unless you are enamored of one particular style, you might wish to spread your patronage around._

_I will be thrilled to have Severus in frame, and I am grateful you have provided me with the means to ensure it. You will have your time with the pensieve, and I have several excellent memories of Severus laughing in the staff room, and in my sitting room, in the sweet boy’s happier days._

_At your service,  
_ _MM_

* * *

 _December 8, 199_  
_ _Hogwarts Castle_

_Dear Elizabeth,_

_May I just say I am so glad to be marrying a man who has been trained from birth in estate management and proper hosting? He has his eye on making the estate self-sufficient in a decade, and certainly by the time he retires (at which time we will no longer have his super-star income, though it does give us plenty of time to build up other more modest income streams). And it is remarkably easy, if one has a farm, a few elves, and sufficient magical ability, to be almost entirely self-sufficient, or to suffice on a very small income, so long as one’s desires are modest._

_And I will own, dragon-tooth heels are not modest. Nor are the number of books I wish to own._

_Viktor has employed Master Harris to deal with our little Roman issue and I am strangely relieved to only need to donate blood for the project, though I am keen to watch it happen, and I have a feeling many Pendragon Elves will also wish to witness the sheer folly of it all come down._

_I have given thought to your instruction to deal with the threat of another dark wizard or witch rising, and I am somewhat relieved by the thought I will not actually have to come up with a plan for at least six months after I graduate, and I will not have to come up with it alone, but I promise not to lose track of the issue._

_I have given some thought to which facet of the wizarding world, or Wizarding Britain, I should relay to you next, and so I will tell you of this conundrum which I find a bit disturbing. So far as I can tell, a majority of households in Avalon are supported in some measure by jobs at the Ministry of Magic. Not industry. Not investments. Not agriculture. I’m no economist, but that has always seemed quite strange to me. So far as I can tell, there is no income tax, though there is a similar thing to the VAT on purchases made, and food as well, but it is much smaller on foot. Then again, everything is smaller and simpler in Avalon. Only two news media. Your wealth is held in gold and guarded, if you are worthy of it, by dragons. (It has always darkly amused me that the standard bankers of all the wizarding world are the Goblins, who are their own Nation. And as I have been reminded, they are at a permanent state of war with all counterfeiters. Wealth may change hands, but it always ends up back in theirs, and from their own view of the world, all gold they’ve ever minted or smithed rightly belongs to them. We only borrow it for the currency of our exchange. Of course there is no rule that you must bank with the Goblins, or use their currency, bartering is also acceptable, though in large quantities I believe you still must pay taxes. But it has been said to me that only a fool would trust any but Goblin gold. I’ll grant you, it was said to me by a Goblin, but I will say they take their jobs very, very seriously. The sharp edge of an axe in the hands of the nearest guard, seriously. And clearly, Leprechauns are not to be trusted at the best of times, and their gold disappears within 23 minutes of dispensing.)_

_Of the other industries of Avalon, though I have no way of knowing percentages, this is what I have gleaned so far: books & media & associated paraphernalia, including the owl post; potions, medicines, medical care, and associated paraphernalia; clothes and associated industries and most of this is made to measure, or cloth for home creation; food & drink, including pubs, restaurants, coffee and tea houses, and not as many green-grocers as one might imagine; sport & leisure, and this is quidditch for spectators, and smaller games for personal enjoyment, plus some music and theatre as there is no equivalent to television; animals, and this includes personal postal owl as well as various familiars, but usually not a trade in fantastic beasts; and then there is wands and various artifacts the creation of which is usually intensely individual and particular to the originator or innovator, but is still such a small part of what industry must be. _

_Beyond industry, there are professionals, whom we describe as Masters or Mistresses of their art, which may be any of the standard that I have previously described to you, as well as Healing (no doctors or nurses, they are healers), Librarians (knowledge is power and someone needs to keep it chained to the walls), and possibly many more. Narcissa once mentioned which bits of the renovations of the town house and cottage were to be done by non-magical contractors and which by magical contractors, so there is that, too. And there are other things, dragon reserves that employ handlers, and the few humans employed by Gringotts in various capacities, and various cottage or estate industries. The Malfoys have vineyards, the Krums grow rather pricey magical roses. Oh, my education is lacking here, as well. I wonder what sort of atlases of the wizarding world there might be, beyond maps. (Another trip to the bookstore is in order. But then, it usually is.)_

_Well. More study is called for. But before I close this letter, I have a request. I would like to bestow (or to request you to bestow, if that would be better) a non-hereditary duchy on Draco, Lord Malfoy, Narcissa’s only child. Though I don’t think regicide is a genuine issue here, if Harry is the brother that fate and choice have provided me, then Draco is the brother that fate and chance have provided me. If you approve, I will discover his full name, and I think perhaps ‘Black Malfoy’ could be a suitable duchy._

_Well, I may discover it anyway. And if it is something heroic or embarrassing, well, more power to me, then._

_Love,  
_ _Hermione_

* * *

 _December 8, 199_  
_ _Hogwarts Castle_

_Dear Mum & Dad, _

_I know you have enough letters from me that you’re probably still reading them, but I can’t resist the urge to write you the first letter in a long while that you’ll be able to read shortly after I post it. Even if I’m posting it by elf rather than by owl, for now._

_So much is going on! I tell you I would be completely overwhelmed if I didn’t have as much help as I do, and I do. I have so much help and I’m so grateful._

_I have an estate. And retainers. And responsibility there. And increasingly bizarre maintenance and renovations there. And Viktor is going to manage it. And that is such a relief._

_I have matters of state. And questions of creating some sort of MI5/MI6. And ensuring the quick and quiet dealing of the next stupid idiot who is ready to kill people in order to have power over ther rest. Not to mention all the other reforms for which the wizarding world is long due. And I have a cabinet. And a secretary. And two brothers. And a father-in-law who is very keen I not turn expansionist. And I’m not in this alone. And I am grateful for that._

_Into this I have my own interests, which I have been encouraged to consider pursuing. You’ve long known of my preference for Arithmancy and Ancient Runes, but throw into the mix also the study of Ley Lines, which is fascinating to me, and Ritual Blood Magic which is interesting and necessary to master in that same way arithmetic is necessary. And while there are, naturally, other interesting things, these are the four foundation stones of my future study, I think._

_And on top of this I’m starting a family. I love Viktor. I want to spend time with him without having to resort to constant time expansion which will, eventually end up taking years off our life and even though we’ll still have all the same minutes, I don’t know, I just… There’s so much. And I don’t want to miss out on any of it._

_Truly, I would like to put off having children for a little while… and I’m not sure my preference is going to matter. There are some blood magic rituals, as I’ve mentioned, and we don’t get to use them and a contraceptive measure at the same time. We don’t get to use them and anything else at the same time. I think even a non-magical means would either be overwhelmed, or would by it’s very taking of it negate the blood magic because of my intent. But there are elves who will help to nanny the children, and that, too, is a relief._

_I just reread that. It seems so selfish when I put it like this, somehow. But I am so relieved that there will be help available for the parts I’ll call my work life, and help available for raising children as I feel a fair bit of pressure to have several more than two so as to adequately furnish the future with Pendragons (oof, brood mare, Mother. Brood mare.) I suppose there will be plenty of opportunity for me to claim the need to sit and read with my feet up because I’m pregnant? No, but really I’m just trying to find the silver lining to multiple pregnancies, none of which I’m particularly looking forward to. And the only things left on my list for which there is little help but my own are the variety and depth of my studies, which I’m not worried about because for me studies have always resolved themselves quite beautifully, and my relationship with Viktor and I’m not in that alone, either. Viktor is there, and there is no one I trust more._

_Dad, avert your eyes. I need to talk about sex with Mum._

_Oh my God, Mum. So, I sort of lost my cool the other day. Viktor says I got triggered, and I don’t doubt it though it still seems like such a reasonable response. I mean, I was forcibly reminded that I’ve got a target painted on my back, more so than Harry or the rest, which I had somehow neglected to consider, but of course Viktor had been considering it and quietly figuring best methods, etc, and earlier this evening we had a brief security-related meeting with Augusta and Narcissa and that put us both at ease and also informed us where the holes are that need filling, but the night before, he took me for a run in the sand to get rid of the excess energy and it was helpful and all, but then we came back and at first the sex was calm and gentle and then it was absolutely explosive, and yet again we nearly broke our promise to not engage in certain acts which is utterly ridiculous because it’s 23 days away, but Mum I am just about at the breaking point. I don’t know if I’m going to make it. He’s so beautiful and honest and vulnerable and strong and every time we come through a disagreement or some other moment of horribleness like the other day, it’s like our bond with each other is so much stronger, and every time we have moments of deep vulnerability and honesty (which isn’t just a nice way of saying ‘we had an ugly argument’ because there are more positive moments, too), that just deepens what we have and every time that happens, Mum, every time, I just want to have penetrative sex so badly. We’ve recently been discussing his need to be occasionally dominated and his need to occasionally dominate and safe, consensual, and pleasurable ways to make that happen for both of us and to be utterly honest, Mum, when he gets so, so honest and vulnerable and raw, all remaining resolve I have melts._

_I fully understand why people take honeymoons for as long as possible, and it’s a bit of a wrench to think that I have to go back to school instead, though of course I wouldn’t push the wedding or coronation back even if I could at this point, despite first thoughts to the contrary._

_Oh, I don’t know where I was going with this. Just winging, I suppose. But I’m awfully glad you’re here for me to winge at._

_I love you so much. I’m so glad everything worked out. Thank you for loving me._

_All my love,  
_ _Hermione_

_PS - write soon and tell me anything, anything at all. Call on one of the Twins when you’re ready to send the letter and they’ll come and fetch it._

* * *

_December 9, 199_  
_ _Buckingham Palace_

_Dear Hermione,_

_Is there no Almanac of Avalon of any sort? Any sort of representation of the State of the State? I find that hard to believe, and yet, I have had demonstrated to me that the magical world does operate rather differently than my own. I cannot but wonder that it might be a useful tool to have, if such a thing does not yet exist. Do look into it and if you can find one, I would also be most interested in reading it. And if you cannot find one and no such thing exists, perhaps that, too, could be a long-term item on your todo list._

_Regarding this and measures to deal with dark witches and wizards, please do not think it must be done in six months or even eighteen. These things take time to properly do, Hermione, which is why they must be done well in advance. Because when one doesn’t, there isn’t time to properly do it when they are needed and one ends up justifying dreadful acts in order to get the thing done well, such as child soldiers. They say there is a triangle of resources for these and many things, from management to construction to child care. Each length of the triangle is a concept; cheap, fast, good. Only two of the three may be had at any point, if by had you imagine a short leg of the triangle. So you may have it cheap and fast, but not well done. You may have it cheap and well done, but not quickly. You may have it well done and quickly done, but it will cost you dearly. Moderation is possible, of course, but the sum of the lengths of the sides remain the same, if you will. You have time. Take it, and so take advantage of the ability to do it well and with less expense._

_To the question of Lord Malfoy, if this is what you would like, I will do it. Tell me, though, about his character, for I do have fears of him reverting, if you will. I would rather the next dark wizard not be Duke Black Malfoy, or have his support._

_Your friend,  
_ _Elizabeth_

* * *

 _December 9, 199_  
_ _Malfoy Manor_

_My dear sister,_

_It is hardly necessary, I think, to grant me a duchy just to be kept in a steady supply of a decent vintage. You must learn to moderate your favors to the ask on the table, Hermione._

_You are, as it stands, the most annoying of all know-it-alls; the accurate one. Still, there is a measure of comfort in the possibility of being wrong and I say this as one who has made something of a young career out of it. The comfort lies in the fact that it is occasionally possible to change one’s mind and escape the nightmare in which one finds oneself. Should you at any point find that your accuracy fails you, this may be a helpful mental measure. I offer it in the spirit of brotherly affection. No duchy required._

_Thank you for the perspective on Luna. I will certainly consider your words._

_Enjoy the wine,  
_ _Draco_

_PS - of course, if you did grant me a duchy I think Mother might weep tears of sheer relief. She has been unaccountably stressed of late, though she does not share with me why. I don’t suppose you have any insight you’d like to offer?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's possible we might be having fun, yet.


	34. Chapter 29, Part 3: Wherein Hermione returns to a stack of mail.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...the chapter concludes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hurrah! A thirty-paged chapter! Well, you know, once you add all the parts together.

Neville shifted in his squashy chair by the fire in Hermione’s study, folding his legs up underneath him and grabbing more cheese and more fried things. Luna was telling a fascinating story about the last time she had travelled with her father. They had gone to Peru and seen the massive magical library that Harry knew of there, as well as all manner of ancient Incan ruins and met with local witches and wizards who still practiced Incan magic and it was just so different than their own, western European brand.

And then Viktor chimed in, discussing the differences between the magic native to the former Soviet states and the more Latin-based Greco-Roman magic that he was also taught, and that was popular in Britain. He talked about the difference between Merlin and Baba Yaga, and how in each place the people talked about a different originator of magic.

“I have a theory,” Hermione said in a somewhat uncharacteristically dreamy voice. “Can’t prove it, of course. Wouldn’t dream of sharing it widely without so much more information, more research. But I’ve been learning a lot from the elves in particular, but also from the centaurs and the merfolk. And a lot is still obscured, but it’s becoming pretty clear to me that our magic came from them. Possibly from the elves alone, or possibly from one of the others, or maybe from all three. But I think, possibly, in each place that was in their own estimation important or necessary or convenient, the three chose a likely looking person to be the fourth, because for some reason at one point three was a stable number, and then it wasn’t anymore and none of the other sentient magical beings wanted to play nice, so the three  _ created  _ another sentient magical race. Wizards. Or Witches, if you like. And so, quite honestly, our magic all, possibly, descends from Merlin and Morgana, or one of their parents, or someone back in their line, and so if you go far enough back, we’re  _ all  _ Pendragons. And Viktor? Your magic goes back, all the way back, to Baba Yaga, or someone farther back in her line, for the fourth of that area, that grouping, and that there is one or more in South America, and again in North America, and in Africa, and in Asia, and in the Pacific, and anywhere, really, that the three were together and found the fourth a necessary component. And the reason that semi-magical children are sometimes born to magical parents with pedigree lineages is that magic is not the natural state for human beings and so sometimes it just doesn’t take. But it can reappear, reemerge, because the fourth is still necessary and the three need to be balanced. But it would explain why in different regions magic seems works in entirely different ways, and possibly that has to do with the original families or individuals who were chosen - how their minds work, what language they used, their own culture and assumptions. Anyway, there’s a lot left to figure out, but that’s what I think.”

“Holy shit, Hermione,” Harry said softly. “When do you have time to come up with all of this?”

Neville watched Hermione shrug. “Hard to turn my brain off, even when I try.”

“It’s a skill that requires practice in order to attain mastery,” Luna pointed out.

“It would explain many things, and yet leave even more questions in the wake,” Viktor admitted, drinking more wine than he would have done, had he a game the next morning. Still, he sat with one arm around Hermione’s shoulders and Neville envied the older man’s confidence.

The conversation shifted then, and sporadically touched on many things, and meanwhile Neville wondered if he was gay. He liked girls. He hadn’t actually kissed anyone yet, but he imagined it would be a girl he would kiss. He certainly liked their bodies quite a bit, what little one could see without staring. But then he had read that letter from Viktor from earlier in the summer, before he had started courting Hermione. Or really, with a letter like that, he might have been easing her into it for a while.

And wow, she really had been clueless.

And when he had read that letter, Neville found himself pulled in two very different directions.

On the one hand, he wanted to sit at Viktor’s feet and learn from the master. How  _ does  _ one express oneself like that, anyway? Can one cultivate the soul of a poet later in life, or is it like gaining mastery over an instrument and if one didn’t start at the age of four, one was doomed?

And on the other hand, he was pretty clear he wanted to suck Viktor’s cock and wow, because that had never really happened before.

He thought about the other men and boys he had known in his life, everyone from Great Uncle Algie on down. Nope. Not a hint. Not a flicker. Not a flare. Then the thoughts of the other women and girls he had known in his life, everyone from Gran on down. Now, there were some winners. Miranda Fielding in Hufflepuff, for instance, was sweet, kind, funny, and she had one of the best pairs of breasts in Hogwarts, in Neville’s humble opinion.

But was it love?

Neville was pretty sure it wasn’t.

Then again, it wasn’t love with Viktor either. Just envy, admiration, and a hefty dose of lust, which at least in general Uncle Algie had once told him was entirely normal so long as he didn’t importune anyone else about it.

Neville sighed imperceptibly, masking it with the action of leaning forward for some more cheese. He supposed he must be bisexual, then.

Well, that was mildly annoying. Did this mean he was going to fall in love with a man and have to adopt in order to get an heir?

Well, no. Best not plan one way or the other. He had time. There was no need to rush into these things.

* * *

_ December 10, 199_  
_ _ Malfoy Manor _

_ Dear Miss Lovegood, _

_ I really don’t understand you at all, you know. You may not realize this, but I have done some truly dreadful things in my life and I truly meant to do them at the time. Unless one counts profound stupidity and extreme short-sightedness, I have no excuses, only regrets, and while I would like to continue on in an entirely different manner, I do not pretend to imagine that the rest of the world is as forgiving as the Queen. _

_ The Headmistress, for one, would take exception to my presence. I would not wish for your chosen date to be kicked out of the ball. It would take the shine right off your evening. _

_ Thank you for the poetry. It was charming, but did not sway me. _

_ With apologies,  
_ _ DM _

_ PS - Mother sends her fondest regards. _

* * *

_ Human Rights Day,   
_ _ Though I daresay the UN meant that in the best way,   
_ _ 199_  
_ _ The windswept and lonely Scots Castle  
_ _ In which I drink his wine  
_ _ But bear not his company _

_ My wrong-headed Lord Malfoy, _

_ Take me to dinner tomorrow night and let me convince you in person. I’ll be out all day anyway shopping with Her Majesty and the others. Neville and I were to be the only ones returning in time for dinner, but I’ll meet you instead and get back a few hours later. Floo to the Vicar’s Head, Manchester at seven and we can go from there. _

_ Don’t be late. We have much to discuss. _

_ The procurer of your soon-to-be favorite Christmas present,  
_ _ Luna _

* * *

“Bit of in depth cosplay for you then, or are you one of them reenactors?” asked the young man who took the scabbard back for a moment, after Hermione had placed Excalibur within to test it out, and then took it back out again. He held the scabbard and stared a bit.

The men were all off taking an opportunity to buy secretive things and so it was just Ginny and Luna with her.

“Oh no,” Luna said dreamily from across the store, looking at something behind them. “She’s the real thing.”

The young man, probably the son of the proprietor, blinked. “Oh. Right. Anyway. Ma’am. Would you like me to wrap your sword and scabbard together?”

Hermione was loath to hand over the weapon to anyone for any reason, but as he reached for it, she took the scabbard back instead, sheathed it again, and then handed it over. “It’s very sharp,” she explained mildly.

He inhaled and his neck twitched, and Hermione smiled to put him at his ease. She paid for the purchase in cash and left the shop with friends in tow. After a moment they waited for a light to change at a corner and Ginny and Luna crowded her quite purposefully so no one could see that she was emplacing a very long sword-shaped object wrapped in brown paper into her very small sparkly handbag. They got back to the tube station and navigated to the next stop - Luna’s excellent cobbler. The walk was long, but pleasant and though they couldn’t often walk three abreast on the pavement, their little grouping shifted and changed so that no one was left out, even if Hermione was never behind the other two. She noticed it about two hours into the day, and quietly tested it four different times, four completely different ways. Whether it was all something they had agreed to behind her back, or just an unconscious maneuver on their part, no one let her bring up the back of the line, and potentially be a target for being quietly picked off from the group.

Would she have to think of guards at some point? Hermione sighed internally and decided to not think of it for as long as possible. She had another few months, surely?

When they walked into the little cobbler’s shop there was a feeling of magic in the air, and the scent of very strong glue, and it had a way of making Hermione’s shoulder’s drop in relief and her sinuses inflame in protest at the same time.

“Ah!” the cobbler greeted them in happiness, a little man named Blister Thorne. “I can no longer show off your beautiful shoes! I must give them up, eh?”

Hermione smiled despite herself. “I’m afraid so,” she said.

They took turns sitting on the one little stool for customers and making sure their shoes fit. And how they fit! Ginny had chosen a pair in Hebridean black, as the cobbler had identified the hides in each of Hermione’s trunks. Luna had chosen a pair in Short Snout shimmering blue-silver. Hermione had gone ahead and ordered one pair each in every hide she had. So now she had five. Black. Red. Blue-silver. Green. An odd sort of brownish-purple. And everyone had purses to match. As each of the other women were off looking at something else, the cobbler winked and added two more shoes and two more purses to the bags and Hermione grinned, and winked back.

“When are you going to let me at those boots of yours, Your Majesty? Let me put a proper sole on them?”

“You could do it now,” Luna pointed out. “You have other shoes to change into. And the Fireball heels would look cute with your outfit, I think.”

“I agree,” Ginny said without looking back at her. Hermione glanced over to see that it was a strappy sandal that had her attention.

When Hermione was assured that it would not take more than two days, she paid for that as well and promised to send an elf to pick them up.

She sat down to take her boots off then took the socks off and stuffed them in her purse. As she pulled out the heels from the bag of purchases before putting that, too, in her purse, she quizzed Ginny.

“Explain to me how extremely formal heels can look good with jeans and a cute top. Not that you can see my top for the winter coat, but still. Explain.”

Ginny shrugged. “Dunno. But it really does. Stand up. Turn around. Damn, Hermione. That was  _ such _ a good choice.”

“You know, despite the fact that they’re covering significantly less of me, my feet are still toasty warm. Interesting. But I wasn’t overheated in the boots. Hm.”

As they left the store, Luna dreamily shared yet more fascinating arcana.

“That is the nature of dragonhide. If the dragon lived well, you know, by dragon standards, and did not begrudge its own death, then the hide conveys comfortable warmth and not uncomfortable heat. But if the dragon lost many battles, or perhaps lost its horde or its mate or its children before its time, or was slain by either another dragon, or a human, then the hide can still be used, but not for clothing. I have seen an arctic tent made of desolated dragonhide and in those circumstances, slightly uncomfortable heat is quite welcome.”

To this, Ginny commented, “I feel like my summers were totally wasted.”

Luna, clearly understanding her point, responded characteristically. “No, they made you who you are. And mine shaped me, as well. And who you are from now on is much more in your control. So what will you do with this summer?”

Hermione looked over at Ginny, who was blinking. “I hadn’t thought of that, actually. I suppose I was just going to settle down with Harry and start working straight away. But… now I’m not sure.”

“Perhaps that’s something you should discuss with Harry,” Luna pointed out, and Ginny nodded silently.

“And what about you?” Luna asked, looking at Hermione now.

“Viktor and I haven’t firmly decided, but I think we’ll be taking our honeymoon for part of it. He negotiated six weeks, and at first I thought that was excessive, but now…”

“Now you want to jump his bones all the time,” Luna supplied helpfully as they walked along.

Ginny laughed and Hermione joined in soon enough. “Yes, I really, really do. So, maybe a week just holed up somewhere having sex, and then the rest of the time travelling.” She smiled ruefully and her friends. “I don’t know. We’ll figure it out. What about you? Do you have summer plans?”

“They’re in flux,” Luna admitted, and she seemed almost wistful and maybe a little sad, which was odd to see with Luna these days. “A lot depends on factors I don’t know yet. But I hope to travel some. It won’t be the same without Daddy, but it will still be beautiful. It always is.”

“Where would you like to go?” Ginny asked gently, and spoke for Hermione, too, whose heart went out to her orphaned friend. She was always so calm, so wise, but the death of her father, who had been her world, must still hurt like hell.

“Oh, I don’t know. ‘Always go somewhere you’ve never been. Always go somewhere you learned to love.’ And it depends on who you happen to be travelling with, and where they’ve not been, and where they learned love. We’ll see.”

There was silence among them as they walked for a bit. 

“I don’t think Harry’s ever really travelled anywhere. I think school was the first time he even got out of England,” Ginny said quietly.

“Well,” Hermione mused, “I suppose that’s not surprising, really. More surprising, perhaps, is his friendship with his cousin. I didn’t see that one coming.”

“Surprising things can happen when people finally grow up. Sometimes quite a pleasant surprise,” Luna said with a tiny smile.

In a very serious tone as they walked down the street and passed by a group of tourists, Ginny confided, “I offered to very quietly curse the lot of them.”

“Oh, they’re already cursed in the worst possible way,” Luna offered, as if it were common knowledge, and then said no more. Both women just stared at her.

“Were you going to say more about that, Luna?” Hermione inquired.

“Did I need to?” she asked, and it seemed to be quite an honest question and not at all rhetorical.

“I think, perhaps, Ginny especially might appreciate more information if you don’t mind sharing it,” Hermione said, glancing back and forth between the two women.

“Oh. Well. It’s no secret. It’s a basic curse of perspective, you see?” she said, perhaps smiling at her own pun. “Everything they perceive is filtered through several layers of fear. See, hear, smell, taste, feel, everything in the world around them, everything they sense without understanding that they’re sensing it. They don’t see anything as it is. And nothing is neutral. It’s the uncle, I think, who is really cursed, but it is somewhat viral as curses go, and so perhaps it doesn’t matter where it began. Harry had a smaller case of it when I first met him and for a long time after, though it is gone now. It means, among other things, that they’re deeply unhappy people and they can’t escape their unhappiness because it’s rooted in their fear, and part of the curse is to cling to the fear at all costs. It’s a hard way to live, but plenty of people do it. No other curse you could lay on them, even the cruciatus arguably, could provide as much lasting damage, even if others cause more acute pain.”

There was silence for a bit after Luna finished.

Ginny broke it quietly. “Do you think that was like, an actual  _ magical  _ curse?”

“Oh no,” Luna assured her. “Entirely mudane. So many are.”

“But why? How?” Hermione asked.

“ _ That _ is more complicated,” Luna said, effectively ending the subject as they returned to the tube station.

* * *

“What I don’t understand,” Harry was saying, “is how you’re managing to hold out without literally expiring on the spot. I mean, she’s my sister, and before that just the one who was like my sister whether I liked it or not, so it’s not like I see her that way. But if it had been me and Gin? No chance.”

“Self-control. Magic. Intense exercise. Mental diversion. It helps to have other responsibilities.”

Neville thought about this. Aside from the fact that Viktor was totally off limits even for his fantasies, hanging out with him was fine. No issue. No weird desire to be inappropriate. And possibly so long as he didn’t read any more of the man’s letters to his fiance, he’d be fine.

If only he could get the one he  _ had  _ read out of his head.

One day. One day someone would love him that much, even if they weren’t half-so eloquent as Viktor Krum. And one day he’d be free to love them back.

Viktor had insisted they come into a muggle bookstore with him, and it had been fairly interesting. The older man was currently looking at different books on farming, as he said he’d wanted to survey the knowledge available to see if there was anything he might incorporate, which had got Neville thinking, and he’d wandered over to the business and finance section. Hermione had been talking on and off about investments and stocks and so forth and Neville really only had the most surface understanding of what was going on. He hadn’t any pounds sterling on him, but it was worth taking a look and noting the prices because certainly he could come back, and Gran had always been quite generous with his book allowance.

When Harry wandered over and began chatting, Neville never noticed how closely his classmate was looking at the titles of his books. Harry, when he wanted, could be quite sneaky indeed.

It was when the men were walking down the street that Viktor had inquired of him whether or not any of the men in his family had taught him what Viktor called the Courting Composure Charm, as obviously no one had taught Harry.

Neville shrugged. “Gran raised me. And her brother was around sometimes, but he’s not the most useful sort, unless you’re in the garden. Quite helpful there, Uncle Algie.”

Viktor shook his head. Then he described obliquely, as they were still in muggle London, a charm that could hide the evidence of arousal under a certain wide-swath of circumstances, and that under other circumstances it was by no means to be used as improper use would cause permanent infertility.

Which sounded like a hard learning curve to Neville. Then again, if he ended up marrying a man, fertility might not be the foremost issue on his mind. And if he didn’t, it might be in the top three.

“I’d  _ really  _ like to know that charm,” Harry said.

“Likewise,” Neville chimed in. Sounded dead useful. When used properly. Just like plants, really. Do the right thing. Or else.

“It dulls the senses somewhat,” Viktor explained. “So it helps to know your mind before the charm. It is not good for normal use, but when you know you are very attracted to someone and you know you cannot act on it, it is very helpful.”

“Yeah, still want to know,” Harry said and Neville just nodded. It would come in handy, eventually.

“Tomorrow evening after dinner, I teach it, yes?”

It was agreed, and Neville breathed a sigh of relief, not because of the subject at hand, but because he had been slightly nervous when they’d first split up by gender and the topic turned - and thank you so much, Harry Potter - to oblique references of sexual desire and in particular, Viktor’s, and in particular, how much he wasn’t acting on it, and in particular, how much pent up desire the eloquent, beautiful, and totally sexualized man had, Neville had gotten quite worried. Because thoughts of Viktor wanting to have sex might lead to thoughts of Viktor masturbating alone, and that was something Neville could easily imagine and was actively trying not to do.

But that was over now and he was, he felt, safe.

* * *

“But, is it normal to want it that much?” Harry was asking, and Neville was in hell. “I mean, is there something wrong with guys that we just can’t stop thinking about sex?”

This was something Neville also wondered about, however the one person he didn’t want to discuss it with, in fact, was Viktor. Previously he had thought the one person he wouldn’t under any circumstances want to discuss it with was Gran, and as a close second, Great Uncle Algie, but in fact Viktor now took the prime spot of, ‘Please, let’s not go there.’

“Yes, is totally normal. There are some very good books about this, in Russian. I do not know what is available in English, but I imagine they exist.”

_ Drop it. Drop the subject. Talk about anything else. _

Viktor continued and Neville started mentally reciting the Circle of Herbology, an epic rhyming poem in iambic pentameter that commented on, as it seemed, every plant in existence. In moments of mental pause, he tried to fill the gap with Miranda Fielding’s breasts. Really, anyone else’ breasts. Anyone else’s cock.  _ Anyone but Viktor. _

Still, a part of his brain was still listening to the Bulgarian.

“Men, it seems, have this strong focus, and so must learn equally strong self-control. Women have, I think, broader vision in this and many ways, and that too has strengths and weaknesses.”

“So, the self-control is mostly to pretend you’re not thinking about sex all the time?” Harry asked.

“Mm, no. No pretend. It is to actively focus the thoughts elsewhere. The body wants what it wants. This does not mean the mind should always agree. To allow the mind only to focus on desire and pleasure is fruitless, for the body craves and will continue. It is never satisfied for long. So if I cannot help but to think about her, I think also of her kindness, of her strength, of her needs, of our conversations, or her opinions. She is a full person, and when I think this way, it is easy to remind myself that she is more than just a body, more than something I can use for my pleasure. And if all that fails, which sometimes it does, I focus on how I may give her pleasure, rather than simply receive it. For in giving, we receive,” and that he ended on a grin.

Oh, Merlin. Viktor grinning was bad. It was so bad.  _ It was so very bad. _

Neville redoubled his focus on the Circle of Herbology and was no longer listening to their conversation at all. He subtly shifted as they walked on the pavement to the other side, with Harry as a buffer between them. It was safer, really, to just think about other things entirely.

* * *

“But if you think about it,” Luna said quietly as they walked behind the others on the pavement and to the next shop in line, “it’s actually an emotionally safe way to explore your feelings in general.”

Neville looked at her like she was insane, because this by no means felt emotionally safe. Still, he kept his arm linked with hers, as they had been for a while, now.

“No, really. We all have crushes on the unattainables in our lives, and they’re unattainable for a variety of different reasons. And I suspect one of the more positive reasons our psyche puts us through this is so that we can practice.”

Neville sighed. “What do you mean?” he asked quietly. A different way to look at this hell he was currently in, had been in since he read that letter, would be much appreciated.

“Well, we can practice patience, compassion, self-control, and non-attachment. And self-care and self-love.”

“Luna,” Neville said on a sigh, “That sounds nice, but right now those are just words.”

“Hm, yes. Let me put it another way. The essence of desire is a deep sort of cruelty. It makes promises it can’t possibly keep. It seems to say, at a deep, body-level, ‘you are lacking something right now and if you don’t get it, it will be the end of the world. The end of your world. But if you do as I say, if you give me what I want, you’ll feel right again. And I’ll leave you alone, forever. Do just this one thing, and everything will be fine.’ But of course that’s all an exact lie.”

“What do you mean, an exact lie?”

“It’s a perfect untruth. If you turn it around it’s a perfect truth. No half measures, here. So, it says you’re lacking something right now, but in truth you lack nothing. It says if you don’t get it, it will be the end of the world, but in truth trying to seek it outside of yourself, where it does not live,  _ will  _ be the end of the world, or at least the end of sanity. It says, if you do what I say, you’ll feel right again, but in truth if you follow desire you will feel only more desire and you won’t feel right again. It says do this one thing and I’ll leave you alone, but it will only leave you alone if you don’t do the one thing and specifically if you no longer even want to. Desire is cruel master. And  _ if  _ we’re in a position where we can have some of our desires fulfilled, how would we most easily learn that?”

“Only by not getting what we want,” Neville said, beginning to understand Luna’s point, even if it was somewhat painful.

“Look at the people you know who always get what they want. How are they as people?”

Neville shook his head. All he could think about were the spoiled brats he knew, Draco Malfoy up until fifth year being head of that grouping. “Spoiled brats,” he murmured.

“It’s not that we can’t have what we need, or have preferences. But when desire comes knocking and says, ‘get this or die,’ we really have to take a good hard look at that and figure out if that’s need saying, ‘choose this way,’ or if it’s desire saying, ‘run after this illusion.’

Neville sighed. “Well, given that the person in question a, doesn’t love me, and b, belongs to someone else, I’d say this is running after illusions.”

“Exactly!” Luna said, smiling. “So this offers you the perfect opportunity to start recognizing the illusions. Start seeing through them. When desire says, ‘you can’t be happy without this,’ ask yourself, ‘why am I waiting on this to make me happy? Why do I believe the lie that happiness only resides out there, and not behind a door I have closed in my own heart?’”

Neville took a deep breath and let out a huge sigh. And then he smiled widely for the first time in a few days. “Thank you, Luna. So,” he said, changing the subject now that he was feeling better. “How are things with Draco? Has he agreed to come to the ball yet?”

“Hm, it’s still a work in progress. We’re friends, but that’s still quite tentative in a way. He doesn’t yet trust my judgement, which shows a certain amount of rational doubt on his part which I quite applaud given his previous experiences. It may be that I go unescorted, but I don’t see that as a setback. He may not be ready. Still. We’ll see if he shows up for dinner tonight.”

"So, wait. Is it okay if I ask a personal question, then?" Neville asked quietly.

Luna nodded serenely.

"How do you know that this thing with Draco isn't just desire baiting you?"

"Fair question. I ask it to myself on a fairly regular basis. And I still get caught up in it, you know? Sometimes? The Yule Ball is like that, which is why I'm always catching myself getting all caught up in yearning for him to join me. I'd prefer it, but a preference is mild. Desire is strong. And so when I just prefer it, I can accept when he says no. And maybe I want to discuss that more than he does, but I can still accept it. And when I'm caught up in desiring it, suddenly nothing else matters. And so that's how I know the difference, there. In the larger picture sometimes it seems harder, but in some ways its easier. Desire would have you break promises, break faith, break other people's wills. Preference respects the boundaries others post. So I noticed I had a preference for him, and I thought he and I might be very good for one another. So my first goal was just to become friends. That alone was a significant change to our relationship and would allow him plenty of room to maneuver and back away before I started courting him. He accepted my overtures of friendship, and when I asked his permission to court his affections, he agreed, though it's not clear to me that he believed I was in earnest. But I think he wanted to believe it, which is why he agreed. Now, I don't have the funds for costly gifts, so I send him poetry and insight. And I've made progress, but I think part of him still doubts my sincerity, and if I can't get us over that hurdle it's not clear to me that we have a future. And when I'm caught up in desire, desire tells me that if I don't marry him my world may as well end. But preference allows me more breathing space. And it allows him to make the choices he needs to make. Will I be a little heartbroken if he doesn't choose me? Yes. Of course. Pain hurts. But it won't actually be the end of my world, and why should it? When there are so many people to love in a more general way, not specific erotic love, and when there are so many ways to bring joy to my life, and to the lives of others? A little grief. A little pain. And then the sun sets, and then the sun rises. And then we can choose again."

Neville sighed again, nodding silently. "Thank you, Luna. You've given me a lot to think about. I… I really appreciate your candor, and your insight. Thank you."

She hugged his arm closer to her, and then let it relax again. "You're welcome, Neville. "It may be you don't find who you're looking for for a while, you know. But that doesn't mean you can't thoroughly enjoy the life you're leading both before and after that point. Just don't be like Viktor when you do."

Neville gave her a good hard stare. "What do you mean?"

Luna rolled her eyes. "He waited for four years to tell the person who he loved that he loved her. He pined and grieved and tore himself apart and meanwhile she could have used his help in the war, and she went and dated other people partly, I'm sure, because she didn't know he was so devoted, that she could call and he would come running. And he almost didn't get her. She didn't understand his veiled attempts at courtship, and she had already half-started something with someone else. What if she had never shown the letter to Harry and Ginny? What if she had just eventually sent back a lukewarm response? How long would it have taken him to declare himself without encouragement? Another year? Longer? Would she have started dating any one of the other people who would be clamoring for her attention by then? Hard to say, and I get that he was playing the long game, but he almost lost. And as it turns out, she needs a mate to be seated. That might have forced her hand, and not at all in a good way, at least not for her long-term happiness with Viktor.”

Neville’s eyes were wide with horror. The picture that Luna spun was all-too credible to be dismissed, just because it hadn’t come to pass. And while he was lusting after the man and it was hard to hear that he wasn’t perfect in every way, it was also glaringly obvious that he and Hermione were meant to be together.

“All I’m saying is,” Luna said, breaking into his horrifying thoughts, “when you are aware you’ve fallen in love, just go do something about it. You may win their affections, you may not, but if you don’t have Viktor’s luck in life, don’t leave it to chance.”

Neville was still blinking in horror at the possibility that Hermione might have ended up with someone who  _ wasn’t as perfect for her, as devoted to her, as obviously in love with her  _ as Viktor was. 

And then the penny dropped.

At some point he was going to look into the eyes of someone who was perfect for him, devoted to him, obviously in love with him. And when that happened, Neville was determined to be ready.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tomorrow, to help tide you over to the next Debts of Honor update, I have a short story in two chapters (it is complete) that I will be posting to my account here on AO3. It will be in a series with this story. It is an alternate-universe what-if of this story. It is entitled 'The Self-Corrective Nature of Time'. There will be one fairly sizable H/V lemon, located in the first chapter.
> 
> Go thank MisoSoupy, as hers was the comment that inspired the plot bunny.


	35. Chapter 30: Wherein the heart catches up.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor and Hermione deal with some angst.

Viktor held the door open for his beautiful love and thought yet again about the charm his father had taught him, the one he would teach Harry and Neville tomorrow. He was aware as they waited to be seated, as he held his hand gently at the small of her back, just how attractive Myon was, but it was a distant awareness. Yes, if he thought about it too much, obsessed or focused on it, he could easily break the charm and then it would not be safe to reapply it until he was no longer aroused, but still. He was grateful for the help.

It was interesting, fielding such questions from Harry as he had throughout the more private portion of the shopping trip. It was like he was fifteen again, and discussing all these things with Mikhail and Alexi, as all three of them had been given a different version of reality from their fathers and at some point they just had to sit down and compare notes. Alexi’s father was perhaps the least helpful of the bunch, and Gregor Krum was definitely the most helpful.

Harry and Neville, as it turned out, were in quite a similar situation, and Viktor wondered if they had ever acknowledged it. Fatherless men, with no one willing to take on the role for them. Harry’s was worse, of course, from everything that Myon had said and the few things his brother-in-law had mentioned himself. But Harry and he had bonded at least. Neville… didn’t seem to like him.

Viktor thought about the day, and how the young man got more and more distant until finally when they were rejoined by the ladies he sought refuge with Luna and stayed as physically and conversationally far away as possible until the evening when they all went their separate ways. He briefly wondered if he had caused offense. It was no good asking, of course. The young man had manners and it would have to be a significant breach for him to be called out on it and thus to get him to acknowledge it in any way. Perhaps he was offended by the frankness of their conversation, but lacked the sufficient conversational skills to deftly change the subject. That was a distinct possibility. As a conversation, it had been honest to the slightly obscured edge of vulgarity, and since Harry had brought it up, Viktor had made some assumptions. It was clear, after all, that Harry and Neville were friends, and not just together because of Hermione.

Still. Viktor could be more mindful in the future. Assume less. Perhaps it would help. Perhaps it wouldn’t.

His mother’s voice rang in his ears.  _ You are a good boy and a bright boy and a strong boy, but this doesn’t mean everyone will like you, Vitya. We are all allowed to like whomever we please, and you also will simply not like some people. It doesn’t make you a bad person, and it doesn’t make them a bad person, either. _

Viktor let his mother’s words comfort him. He would be more careful. And he would accept that Neville just didn’t like him. Viktor wouldn’t push it and so perhaps would end up preserving the ability to work together, as Myon had chosen him as her assistant. Still. He would be Myon’s assistant, not Viktor’s.

As they were seated at the little Thai restaurant near Inferi Hell that they had grown to love, the owner came out and fussed over them. This was, perhaps, a benefit of showing up regularly every other week. They greeted her by name and inquired after her children and put their orders in and were left for a moment to themselves. Viktor held Hermione’s hand across the table.

God, she was beautiful.

He let the concerns about her friends go and instead focused his attention on her, where it belonged.

* * *

Hermione smiled at her beautiful man who was taking her out to dinner after a long, but rather wonderful day out.

“Master Harris,” he began, “will be ready to do the commissioned work tomorrow. I will meet him at the estate at ten in the morning. Do you wish to make the donation earlier, or would you like to meet me there?”

Hermione indicated her preference and pointed out that Mory would certainly be interested in witnessing it, she thought.

“I will tell him tonight. I’ll have Tona rearrange things for me once it is done. I think I would also like to have the adjoining room cleared out. It is sometimes useful in training to have an indoor space that is wide open and empty.”

“Whatever you need,” Hermione said with a smile.

He went on to give her a farming and cultivation update, briefly mentioning all the work he had organized in the week since she had returned, which was quite a lot. The ancient fields had been analyzed. New fields had been planned. The Centaurs had been consulted by the farming elves. Ancient orchard areas had been sought out (nothing remained but a few useful environmental charms), and the encroaching trees had been cut down and piled up for the Centaur’s use. It would be another two weeks of work to clear and ready the fields and set up the environmental charms before planting was ready, and the first eighteen months of farming and harvest would not be quite as good because there would be no compost ready and available yet, but yields would increase in time and that was something to look forward to.

The farming elves, Viktor reported with a grin, were thrilled to have a scope of work, and were borrowing all the nursery elves and midden elves to come and join them in preparing the fields and orchards.

Viktor had also met with the Head of Kitchens and arranged menus for the length of time people would be in residence, including the First Family Dinner, the Inferi Christmas Party, two separate Christmas Eve Dinners, two separate Christmas Morning Breakfasts, and he had coordinated with Augusta, Narcissa, and Ginny concerning what would be needed from the Pendragon Elves after the Coronation and for the various receptions that would be occurring.

Hermione’s relief that he was doing all the things she had rather forgotten about and on top of that,  _ seeming to enjoy them  _ reminded her that she had something to give to him. She waited until all the reports were done and they were deep into their dinners, raw beef pho and tofu pad thai, respectively.

“I have a small gift for you. It took some time to determine which one was for which person, but that’s all sorted now,” she said.

A single eyebrow rose in inquiry as he put his chopsticks down. “Do I get to have it, or are you just going to tease me with details?” he said, beginning to grin.

Hermione dug into the pocket of her jeans and pulled out a gold signet ring and offered it to him.

“It’s the Consort’s ring,” she said, watching him take it. “There’s also a ring for the heir and the comptroller. I’m holding off on giving that last one to Neville because it has a lot more power than I’d realized, and its not clear to me that he’s going to be the comptroller of the estate and all the holdings rather than my assistant. I think, given the breakdown of work, it would really be  _ your  _ assistant who would end up being the comptroller, not mine, if you even needed one.”

“Thank you, Myon,” he said, holding it between his fingertips. “How has it been charmed?”

“Oh, there’s a list. I’ll get it for you later. It’s on my desk. Um, standard resizing, of course. It has a couple of elf charms, a homing charm for the Head Elf and another to allow the Head Elf to always hear when you call. It’s a portkey, but we don’t know to where, and we don’t know the words to activate it,” she said, laughing. “It’s got a Goblin charm on it giving you access to the vault without shedding blood. And then there are like, ten other charms. I think one is a mild protective charm. I can’t remember the others. None of them seemed particularly heinous to me,” she said shrugging and returning to her meal.

“You will not be offended if I wait to read the list before I put it on?” he asked, his eyes searching hers.

She smiled at him again. “No, that’s fine. I know you like to read the fine print.”

“Mm?” he asked, also returning to his meal.

Hermione explained the tendency of non-magical lawyers to insist on great clarity in certain respects, and the fact that they sometimes went on at length much to the dismay of advertisers and those who did not always wish for such clarity, and so the necessity of putting it all in very small, or fine, print at the end of a document or advertisement.

Viktor laughed and the conversation continued on at length, punctuated by the odd contemplative silence as they ate and enjoyed each other’s company.

On the walk back to Ely’s wizarding quarter Hermione strolled along with Viktor, her hand pressing on his inner forearm as he escorted her. Her mood had turned sombre and contemplative, not that that was an unusual event.

“Do you ever wonder how it might have turned out if we’d done things differently?” she asked quietly.

“Mm. Sometimes. But it is not a fruitful line of thought, in general. It only makes me sad.”

She nodded. “Yes. Would some lives have been saved, but others lost in their places? Or might there just have been less horror in general, had I made different choices? I mean, if I tried harder to explain it all to my parents, if I had called to you for help, when help could have been useful, you know, years ago. Might so much suffering have been averted? But I think there probably would have still been a war. Would have still had child soldiers. People still would have died.”

“Myon, you cannot change the past. None of us can. We did the best we could, which is all we can ever do. And dwelling too long in such regrets hurts the heart. This is not to say we cannot talk about this. Or imagine a better way. We can talk about anything, you and I. But I think it is my job to remind you that we are here. And we are now. And no matter what has happened in the past… we carry this in our memories and in our bones and in our blood, but we need not relive it and increase the agony. It was enough that we lived it the once. And the peace we can make with it, Papa assures me, is not something that tortures us quietly under the guise of calm. It is a true peace with a clarity that presently alludes us.”

She squeezed his arm and leaned in slightly before they walked into The Cross Hotel and Viktor nodded his silent thanks to the doorman.

“Papa is very wise,” Hermione murmured as they walked across the lobby to the floo. “And so are you.”

A pinch of powder before she stated her destination and stepped through and then she was cleaning herself off, and Viktor as well when he came through a moment later.

“It’s hardly that late, but I’m so tired,” Hermione said, smiling it off. “Would you mind if we didn’t have a longer day, today, or will that throw you off too much?”

“Mm. No. Is good. And Myon, for clarity’s sake I say this. I look forward to the day when you feel safe enough not to wear that everywhere,” he said nodding to the time turner beneath her shirt as he drew her in closer to him and pushed the curls back from her face. “When you are not so overburdened with work and demands on your time that eighteen hours will be enough to do all that you wish to, and afterwards sleep.”

She sighed and met his eye. “Do you think I rely on it too much?” 

His nod was tiny, but he met her eyes while he gave it.

“That’s a yes, right?” she asked ruefully. She knew it was. She knew he wouldn’t be so mindless in this moment as to revert to the native Bulgarian nod-to-say-no.

“Yes, Myon,” he whispered. “I think… But you understand I do not wish to judge.”

She nodded, and he continued.

“I think if you are up against a deadline and the only way is to work late into the night... Then you use it, to give yourself sleep. Yes. But this should be rare, because  _ you should not be working that much.  _

“Myon, we were not made to work eighteen hours a day without stopping. And I worry that this is a lesson you are not learning. And if you do not now, then when?”

She sighed. “It’s… hard for me to hear you say this. But I get the sense that it was hard to say, so thank you for being brave.” She hugged him and laid her head on his chest for a long while in silence. “I get so excited, is the thing. I have so many ideas. And when I need, well, when I  _ want  _ to research something, I want to do it thoroughly and well.”

“Hermione, I know this about you. And I love this about you. But this was a lesson I, too, had to learn. Quidditch is a full time job, and at least in Vratsa the sixty hour weeks in most of the year balanced out the twenty-five hour weeks for the rest of the year. With Ely it is more like forty-five and twenty, but still. But I had time for one minor occupation. It might have been a part-time mastery in blood magic or ancient runes. Instead it was language immersion because I simply did not have time to do both. But that was not permanent. I have learned the language. It was four years, and now I am fluent and I practice daily in my immersion in this country, and in your life, and now I have time for other things. Right now, it is estate management, and may be for sometime. Eventually, I will also add on blood magic, but if I am to have a life with you and do a little recreational reading, some other things will have to wait. We will very likely live long lives. There will be time, Hermione. So consider the long list of things you are doing. What can wait?”

She sighed. “Most things. I mean, classes take up time, and I’d already decided that doing ‘good enough’ was in fact good enough. I mean, it’s not like it’s the first time I’ve been exposed to the material anyway. Or the second. But I could stop trying to desperately overachieve in my tutoring sessions. And there really aren’t any ideas I’m having, you know, outside of classes, that I need to spend quite so much time on. I mean, I could make notes and write down ideas, but I could pause my research on those topics until after graduation, and after our honeymoon. There are still meetings that are unavoidable at this point, likewise letter writing. But I do still want to participate in Dueling Club, and my morning runs, and Viktor, it’s very important that I get to spend time with  _ you.”  _

He smiled and kissed her gently. “Likewise, it is important to me. And I think, too, the time you spend with your friends, these Friday night gatherings? These are very important as well, for all of you. And now is the time, Myon, to practice taking care of yourself in this way. Once you graduate, you will be the only one putting tasks on your own shoulders. Yes, some may be dictated to you by Elizabeth, or by the duties that become apparent. But it will be you who delegates or not, who decides how quickly or slowly something is done to be normal and right. And I can foresee a version of events where you work yourself into an early grave, Myon, and this I do not like at all.”

She nodded and placed her head back on his chest for a moment. She sighed, and then spoke. “I see your point,” she said to his chest, “and it is well made. I do hope that if I get stupid about things again, you’ll tell me before I work myself into an early grave. And on that vein, I’d like to - very gently, I hope - point out something that you are doing, or have done and might continue, that I find incredibly stupid and likely to lead you to an early grave, Viktor, and the very idea tears my heart in two.”

He squeezed her tightly. “It’s the forest training, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” she breathed. After a moment she added in a whisper. “Please don’t do it.”

She could feel him sigh heavily. “I have considered this quite a lot since I first mentioned it to you, and you first had your reaction. I think…” he sighed and muttered something in Bulgarian. “Well, I think many things. But I will stop. No more flying through dense forest at high speeds. I promise, Myon.”

She wondered what he was going to say, but decided not to push him on it. He was patiently teaching her all over again the value of thinking before she spoke, and she extended him the same courtesy of patience.

Hermione squeezed her arms around his waist tightly for a moment before releasing him altogether. “Thank you.”

Quietly and without words they each went into the bedroom and started to get ready for bed, bath first. He got the water running as she took off all the pieces of jewelry she did not habitually sleep in and when she put the time turner down, she picked it back up again and put it in the same leather box as Henry’s crown, right in the center. It was a subtle reminder to her. Both needed to be used with care.

As a test of how safe she felt, Hermione took the locket off. That was alright. She touched her Black signet ring, but couldn’t bear to take it off. She left it on, with the others.

Viktor was already half-naked and carefully removing his clothes, folding them, and laying them on the chaise. He would wear them back to his hotel in the morning before changing and going for a run in Ely before bathing, changing again, eating breakfast and since it was Sunday…

“What are you going to do early tomorrow morning? Before the ten o’clock appointment, I mean?” Hermione asked as they got into the tub together.

“Mm. Read, possibly. Practice cello. Swim. Not certain, why?”

“Do you ever sleep in? Just to be decadent, and, I don’t know, masturbate or something?”

He chuckled and she could hear the grin. “Not often. Is more likely that I will get up and run, then eat breakfast, then go back to bed. Read. Nap. Masturbate. Fantasize very heavily about you and your school skirt. But if you are offering a long lie in... is this correct? The phrasing?”

She nodded. 

“If you are offering, I can make an exception. Will you order breakfast for us to be delivered at seven, then?”

“So early?” she asked, making a mental note to leave a note on the common room table for her suitemates not to expect her running or at breakfast.

“Well,” he drawled. “I don’t have to just fantasize about you and your school skirt. And despite the fact that it is twenty days exactly to the evening that we can finally share a penetrative orgasm, I would very much like you to be wearing it and nothing else while I feast on you.”

Hermione grinned. “Just the skirt?”

“Mm.”

“I might get cold, you know,” she said, grinning wider.

“Mm.”

She could feel the long, hard length of him at her back. His hands were quiet, resting over her stomach, possessively holding her. She sighed and rested her head back on his shoulder, arching her neck in the process. "I love you so much, Viktor,” she said quietly. “Thank you for… well, for being so honest with me. About everything. Your fantasies, but not just that. Everything. You’re always so real. And thank you for being my ocean where I can always be honest and real, even when it’s awkward or painful or strange.”

His answering sound was something between his standard ‘Mm’ and a rumbling purr. “Myon. Everything I have and everything I am is yours. The good and the bad. The wise and the foolish. The sexual and the… hm. Vot is good word for not sexual?”

“Huh. Not sure, actually. I suppose you could say innocent, but that imputes guilt or knowledge concerning sex, and neither one is quite right for your purpose. Hm. An interesting conundrum of English, I suppose. But I do take your meaning.”

“Yes, all these things, I lay at your feet. To refrain from offering them to you, this would cause a pain greater than sharing even my foolishness with you, even my darkness.”

She wanted to argue that he wasn’t dark, but just because the things he struggled with looked different from hers, it didn’t mean they didn’t cause him pain, she reminded herself.

Instead, she asked a question. “What does my school skirt mean to you? Is it just a long-held fantasy come true, or is there something else?”

“Mm. Yes. It is true that it has figured in many dreams, and many more fantasies. But it is also, I think, perhaps a symbol of time lost. My own regrets which though I counsel you so wisely to let go of yours... and yet I cannot with my own. 

“What if I had made my intentions plain, earlier? What if I had received permission to court you, earlier? What if I had spent as much time visiting you and your family as I could have, and likewise invited you more diligently to visit us? And yes, perhaps I would have been more closely involved in your war, but from my perspective that would not have been a bad thing. It might have spared or lessened pain for you, and that would have made the entire endeavor worthwhile. And while you visited us, you might have learned some of our family’s defensive magics, trained with Mama and Papa.” He sighed and leaned forward just a bit to rest his chin on her shoulder.

“And yet again, I find myself hiding in sex.” He huffed ruefully. “It is so much easier to hide in a fantasy that I did it all right the first time. Easier to hide in feelings of dominance for providing such a small, superfluous thing as a warming charm when I have failed so profoundly at being useful during your war when you so desperately needed help and received none.”

His breath behind her was shuddering and she had a feeling he was silently weeping.

Hermione’s heart broke a little for his pain, and the way things had turned out, even though it had led them to this place, with each other. She pulled his arms further around her midsection and then covered them with her own, hugging him, in a way.

“We don’t know what might have happened, Viktor,” she said softly, after a moment. “We can’t know. But I can tell you plainly that it wasn’t all you. I would have needed to participate as well in all of these things that  _ we  _ did not do. And you would have had a hell of a hurdle to overcome, my beautiful, powerful, wise man. 

_ “Me.  _

“You have always been my blind spot. I understand that now. Even you inviting me to the ball, I could barely believe it was personal and mostly I didn’t. Most of the time… well, I’ve never really mentioned this before, because it’s embarrassing to admit the depth of my ignorance here, well, anywhere really, but, well… I was flattered. It was true. And by that point I did sort of fancy you. In a quiet, sort of unobtrusive way. And I was totally unaware that I was falling in love with you, though I see now that it was happening. At most I thought I had a silly little crush, but as for your motives, Viktor, don’t you see? I couldn’t imagine a world in which you wanted to be with me, personally. I thought I was just a convenient person to ask, someone who wouldn’t fawn all over you like your fanclub. Someone who would comport herself with dignity and be perhaps an enjoyable companion for the evening. And since I had recognized that I had a bit of a crush, I was quite happy to go with you, but Viktor, I was genuinely surprised when you asked me to write to you before you left. And that’s… why I didn’t come visit you that summer. I had no idea why you’d want me to. I… I didn’t even ask my parents,” she quietly admitted. “With some distance between us, I… I thought about the crush and I didn’t want to make a fool of myself and make you regret inviting me, or being my friend.”

He groaned behind her and his crying was quiet but obvious now.

Her heart broke a bit more, but there was nothing left to say, and she wondered if she perhaps should have been silent to begin with. She just held his arms, and he held her, his tears tracking down her shoulder and mixing with the warm bathwater.

After a very long time he heaved one last sigh and spoke, his voice soft, but not as broken as she might have imagined.

“It is a miracle we are here, now, together. We were both so very stupid about things.”

“Perhaps it is. But unless you believe in the multiple universe theory, this is the only present there is. And even if you do, this is the present that  _ we  _ have, and the only one  _ we  _ know. And in it we are here, together, now. So take comfort in that, my sweet and wonderful man. At the perfect time for it, you courted me successfully. And at the perfect time for it, I woke up to the twin suns of your attention and affection, and now I would like all of it that I can reasonably take.”

Viktor held a single hand out of the warm bathwater and Hermione watched as his handkerchief flew into his palm. She leaned forward and pulled the plug as he blew his nose and cleaned himself up a bit and she was ready with a towel already wrapped around her torso and one held out for him when he stood up.

She wrapped the towel around him in the act of hugging him and they stood in the draining bath like that, wrapped in towels and wrapped in each other, struggling to remain in the present moment where they  _ had  _ happiness rather than in the morbid regrets each one of them had about the past.

“Another time,” Viktor muttered. “You will tell me about the multiple universe theory.”

A half-smile graced her features for a moment. “Yes. Later.”

They brushed their teeth in silence and crawled into bed and Hermione was snuggled up against his chest with one leg on top of his and an arm around his torso before she remembered she had a note to write to her housemates, and house elves to communicate with before they did anything else.

She groaned and got back out of bed, murmuring that she would return in a moment. She put her robe and her slippers on and went into the study to write the note and left it on the table in the common room. Then back in the study, she called Pampy and Mory and gave the instructions she needed to before returning back to bed and resuming the position of maximum cuddle against Viktor’s chest, an arm and leg draped over him. It wasn’t difficult to notice he wasn’t aroused and wasn’t initiating sex, and not that it was a bad thing, though it was an extremely unusual thing. Still, she wanted to make sure he was okay before they went to sleep, sex or no.

“I love you, Viktor. I’m sorry I’ve been stupid about it in the past. I promise I’ll never second-guess your love for me again. Or, at least, if I’m having such a difficult moment, I’ll bring it to you first, so you can set me straight.”

He sighed and wrapped his free arm over hers, his hand resting on her shoulder. “And I promise that I will not fail to tell you of my love for you. You will never have cause to doubt me, Myon. Never again. And I do so love you, my treasure, my North Star.” He turned his head to her and kissed her forehead, which was the most easily reachable spot. When he spoke again, his words were an agonized whisper. “How can my heart ache for not having you when you are here, holding me? When we have already exchanged promises if not vows? When we all but live together completely? When already I run our estate?”

Hermione shifted around him, straddling his hips and sitting back, her legs folded on each side of his. She took his large, warm, calloused hands and put them on her hips.

“Feel me,” she said. “I’m here. I’m yours.”

She was quiet then, staring into his wide, sad eyes for a long moment.

“Viktor, you spent a long time wanting this, and so unsure you might ever get it. Has your heart caught up, yet?”

He took a shuddering breath, his gaze locked with hers. His exhale was audible.

“It doesn’t have to be about sex. But, Viktor, it’s not just about hiding in sex, either. We can let it be an affirmation. A tangible metaphor. Knowing that we have this need for each other, and knowing that we fulfill it in so many different ways, all the ways in which we’ve entwined our hearts and minds, and to a smaller degree, our bodies and our magics. And in a smaller, very specific way, no. You haven’t orgasmed inside of me, and I haven’t orgasmed inside of you. But in a deeper way, you have been inside of me for a long time now, and I in you, and we have been growing closer, and we grow closer, still. And as much as I have been somewhat fixated,” here she ruefully smiled, “on very specifically having your cock inside of me, I don’t actually imagine that we’ll be done growing together once that happens. When I’m thinking more reasonably, I honestly believe it will just be the next step on what I hope will be a very long journey with you. And in twenty years, and forty and sixty and eighty years I hope I will look back on moments of uncertainty like this with kind and compassionate eyes, having grown so much closer  _ to you  _ and having grown so very much  _ with you.” _

He pulled her down for a sweet and long kiss and she was very aware of the moment he started feeling better, though his hands didn’t roam from their place on her back, holding her on top of him. When his cock was completely hard, or something very like it, he groaned into the kiss, and then slowed it until she raised her head somewhat.

Viktor looked into her eyes and she could see the depth of feeling there. “You are fearless and brave and insightful and I adore you,” he said quite plainly.

She decided not to quibble about definitions and just accept the compliment in the spirit in which it was offered. “And you are wise and powerful and intelligent and I adore you.”

His grin was wry, as if he didn’t quite agree, but he didn’t actually argue so she let it go.

He sighed. “I do want to be inside of you, Myon. Fiercely. Passionately. With my whole being, I want to sheathe myself in you, as if that is all the assurance, all the binding and bonding and promises and vows that could ever be made and as if that is the keeping of them all at once and forever. And I say it aloud and it is so ridiculous. Good sex with you has very little to do with all of that. But that is the strength of my yearning for you, to have you and take you and be with you in this specific way. A voice within says it would be enough to have you like that just for one moment, but I know that is complete ludicrousness. For when we finally allow ourselves that, when I can finally and fully sheathe my body in yours, Myon,  _ Oh, God, Myon.  _ I’m not going to stop. Not at once. Not at one time, or one moment, or one orgasm.”

He groaned and his body shook for a moment as he closed his eyes and paused in his explanation. Hermione wanted to speak, but she understood it wasn’t just a dramatic pause, or a moment to martial his thoughts. He was holding off the orgasm he’d nearly talked himself into, and her whispering words of desire while writhing slightly on top of him wouldn’t help right now.

But she thought about it, wondering what it would be like. She still didn’t have a decent idea. Fingers were too slim and too short, and more than one was the wrong shape entirely, and also too short. But she was well-acquainted with the ache and the strange but palpable longing to be filled, particularly when she exercised her kegel muscles and could almost, almost feel him.

Viktor opened his eyes and took a deep breath. “I did not offend you, did I?” he asked.

She leaned in slightly and kissed him and finally wriggled her hips a bit. “Hell no,” she whispered against his lips just before he groaned loudly.

“I love that,” he gasped. “Keep doing that.”

His hands went to her hips, though he didn’t try to direct her movement in any way. He just held on. So she wriggled. And she writhed. She rolled her hips and shifted slightly from side to side until he started groaning obscenities intermixed with her name and his grip became firmer on her hips, holding her still as he bucked against her.

After a very long moment when his gasping quietend and his body relaxed beneath hers, she felt the wandless, wordless evanesco. After more long moments of kissing his face, his too-often broken nose, his closed eyelids, the well-defined jaw, his breathing deepened and she wondered if he would simply fall asleep.

And then he gently but swiftly rolled her onto her back, now on top of her and still cradled between her thighs, one of his self-proclaimed favorite places in the world.

Hermione gasped partly in shock and partly in pleasure. If he truly had fallen asleep she might have just curled up next to him and done the same. She might have cuddled up next to him and put her hand between her thighs and come fairly quickly, though quietly. Oh, but this was so much better, she thought, as he massaged her breasts and pinched and pulled on her nipples in exactly the right way.

His mouth was on her ribs now, and she couldn’t help the sounds she was making. He moved farther down, getting her closer and closer as he made his way with active hands and an extremely versatile mouth. When he finally spread her legs wide across the bed one by one, a strong hand pressing down on each inner thigh and crouched down and feasted on her, Hermione was so much closer than she might have been.

Pinned to the bed and not wanting to be anywhere else in the world she whimpered at the feeling of his tongue and his teeth, making the most ridiculous sounds as he brought her closer, sounds, he had assured her, that he loved to hear.

He groaned into her as she got closer and closer to the pinnacle of her pleasure and she gasped out her encouragement of him as she cradled his head against her core.

Finally, she moaned his name, long and loud.

Panting, she lay afterwards sprawled on the bed until he crawled up to her, bringing the sheet and blankets with him as he came. Viktor cuddled up to her side, tucking her in as she lay boneless and satisfied and arranging a pillow to his liking.

“Goodnight, my Myon,” he whispered to her, just before extinguishing the last light in the room.

“Goodnight, Vitya,” she sighed and then moved slightly to cuddle into him, as well. 

And just before she fell asleep the word came to her. “Chaste,” she murmured, almost unintelligible. “Opposite of sexual.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With love from me to you. Stay safe.


	36. Chapter 31: Wherein the score updates; Concordia 2, Rome 0.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mist comes down. See chapter notes for trigger warning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning! Cutting ahead. In a manner of quite literal speaking.

All sixty-eight Pendragon Elves had gathered. 

After Hermione and Viktor had met Master Harris at the floo and walked with him out of The Curtain and toward the New Palace, it was quite evident. They ringed the New Palace like they were holding a protest.

“Oh. My goodness,” Master Harris said, clearly taken aback.

“Mory?” Hermione called quietly, and her ancient Head Elf popped in next to her with a little grin on his face.

“Good morning, Mistress Pendragon.”

“I see you couldn’t resist,” she said.

Mory grinned wider. “For fifteen hundred years we have wanted the end of the Bane of the Pendragons to come. And now it comes. We will bear witness, unless you forbid it.”

The two hundred year old elf raised an eyebrow at her. Like she was going to forbid anything he deemed necessary. He had more wisdom and life experience than her grandmother and both her parents put together.

“This is an important moment, and for you even moreso,” she said, keeping all the impertinence on the inside. “I would never forbid such a thing.”

“Mistress Pendragon is wise and kind,” Mory said, grinning again. “Does the Mistress, the Master, or their guest have any needs at present?”

“Perhaps some tea afterwards, in the central garden of the palace.”

“Yes, Mistress. We will see to it directly afterwards.”

When Hermione looked to Viktor and her tutor they silently shook their heads. There was nothing else they needed.

Mory gone, the three passed between the house elves to stand just inside the columns, between the tall stonework and the mist itself.

Master Harris quietly explained the ritual in more detail than Viktor had and Hermione blushed to realize that it might have been better, in some regards, if she had merely donated the blood in private. Still, that was ritual blood magic for you, and she was damned if she would be squeamish about it.

Bane of the Pendragons, indeed. She might be cursing their collective names by the end of it all.

Her tutor suggested that Viktor assist him, primarily in collecting the blood, and so they spoke about the ideal timing of it, and her tutor thanked her for being willing to be present. It would be easier and take more fully and immediately with her here, with the bloodletting as a part of the ritual.

The walls were the least cumbersome in some sense, so it was agreed they would be the first down. Then the lethargy rooms - two separate rituals, of course it would have to be two separate rituals, and then the orgy rooms which again required two separate rituals, one per room.

Hermione sighed and paused the proceedings.

“Look, give me a minute, won’t you? Tampy? Pampy?”

The two elves popped in with smiles on their faces which dissolved when they looked around and saw all the other elves.

“Yes Miss?” Pampy asked, her face full of worry. 

“Right. Here’s what I need. Tampy, please fetch me my bathrobe and slippers, and then when you’re done, will you make some tea and sandwiches to be ready in about forty-five minutes, to be served here in the central garden. Pampy, there’s a thin one-person chaise lounge in one of the front rooms here. Will you bring it and a pillow out here? I’ll need you to move it around a great deal when we go from place to place.”

Hermione looked at Viktor. “If it’s genuinely better that I be here, participating, and bleeding slowly from various cuts for forty-five minutes before I can be healed, I’m going to be as comfortable as I can.”

“This is a much better idea than mine, Myon,” Viktor assured her.

Tampy returned with her bathrobe and slippers and before she could leave again, Hermione beckoned both of the twins to come with her for a moment as she walked into the mist of a front room.

Hermione started taking her boots off and spoke quietly to her two house elves, both of whom had been tortured with knives, as she had.

“I’m about to engage in a blood ritual which requires my blood as a Pendragon. It means that Viktor, as Master Harris’ assistant, is going to cut me with a knife, over and over, in various places. But it’s not a cursed blade. It’s my own athame. They will be very, very shallow cuts. And while I will bleed a bit, because I can’t have a healing spell or any balm applied until after all the rituals are over, and it will be very odd and uncomfortable for me, I won’t really be hurt, and no one will take pleasure in it, except that the ritual will finally be done and done well, and I will be healed directly afterwards. There will be no scar. No curse. And I have a balm with me we can use for afterwards, after the healing charms.”

Hermione, naked down to her matching underwear, put her robe on, and then wriggled out of her knickers and bra, and pulled them out and put them on the pile of clothes. She slipped her feet into her slippers and turned back around to see her two elves and their worried faces. 

“I didn’t want you to panic, or think poorly of Viktor or Master Harris.”

“Miss is certain there is no other way?” Tampy asked, looking just as concerned as her twin.

Hermione sighed, and knelt down to be more at their height. “There is a slightly different way. I could give all the blood donations privately to Viktor without being an active participant of the ritual while it is ongoing. That would be a bit shorter for me, and much more private, and we could do the healing charms sooner. But it wouldn’t be quite as efficacious for the ritual itself, and I might have to do some portion of it a second time, or a third or fourth time, depending on other factors, and that doesn’t appeal to me at all.”

Pampy looked mutinous. “Miss is certain the ritual has to happen?”

Hermione nodded, with a sad smile. “Yes. It does. But hopefully it will only have to be done once to undo the health and security risks that are posed by the blood magic that was used here long ago. And it won’t hurt too much. It will just be uncomfortable and slightly embarrassing. And actually, now that I think of it, Pampy, will you take my pile of clothes to the Master Suite on the first floor of the Curtain for me? It dawns on me I won’t change here afterwards, as there will be no walls.”

A snap of the fingers as she was gone, and then back again.

“Right. Tampy, you’re on tea preparations. Pampy, let’s take this fainting couch here. You may as well prepare yourself to transport me on it, but no apparition please.”

She walked out through the mist to find Master Harris with his hands behind his back, looking patient, and Viktor with his arms crossed over his chest, looking nervous.

“Right,” she said. “I’m ready now. If we’re doing the walls first, would it be alright if we did the door in the Master Suite first of all? That way I don’t have to hobble there and back again with cuts on both feet?”

Master Harris nodded and indicated they should precede him and Viktor offered her his arm.

“Are you okay?” Hermione whispered when they had gained about twelve feet on her tutor who, blessedly, was giving them a hint of privacy as they walked to the castle. They were flanked by Pampy, of course, but she was also the soul of discretion.

“I am very busy right now hating and resenting your ancestors,” Viktor muttered, his surly tone bringing a smile to her face.

“Well, that makes… seventy of us. Look, now’s clearly not the time, but when this is all over, let’s have a good long chat about this, alright?”

“Hermione, there is a small chance there could be scarring…” he said in a pained whisper. “I knew the general regions before but the specific cuts were not made clear to me until just now. Modern blood magic, we do not cut in these areas.”

“Vitya, calm down. Even if they leave scars, they will not be gigantic purple scars. And it is for an excellent cause. And it won’t actually hurt me all that much. It will be nothing compared to being tortured or cursed or jinxed, and I know it will have nothing on childbirth. Please stop thinking of this as you cutting me and leaving scars. Think of this as we, together, getting rid of this security threat, this threat to our health. I know you would volunteer to be cut if you possibly could, but you can’t. They’re _my_ ancestors. Let me take part in fixing this rather foolish decision they made.”

They walked up the flight of stairs in silence as Master Harris came into the Great Hall and followed them at length. Pampy waited at the open door to the Master Suite to guide him in. Once Viktor had lain her down on the bed, he had strode angrily over to the security threat in question and roughly torn the tapestry curtain open and off its rings, exposing the hated mist, the Bane of the Pendragons. He threw the cloth down in disgust.

“Fucking amoral Pendragon bastards,” she could hear him clearly say from across the room. She decided to sit on the bed with her legs up. After all, this cut would have to be the palm of her hand and the alternating sole of the other foot. She also wiped the grin off her face, left over from his cursing when he came to her side.

“When we are finished here,” he quietly said, “I will carry you back down. You can travel on the chaise after that.”

Hermione decided now was not the time to argue, and that perhaps it would do them both good to hold and be held.

When Master Harris walked into the room he began a clear and succinct outline of the ritual to get rid of the mist doorway. When everyone was clear on which cuts needed to be made at which parts of the chant, they began.

Hermione’s tutor began to sing. It was brief, and it was about the joy of taking the long road, taking time, allowing hands (cut to Hermione’s right palm) to push aside curtains and open doors and feet (cut to the sole of Hermione’s left foot) to walk the full path from past to future. The handle of the slightly bloody athame was slapped into his open and waiting palm as he faced away from the couple and he quickly took the six long strides to the misty door that was waiting. He sliced down the mist in a single broad stroke just as he finished singing, and that was it. The mist dissipated and left a plain stone wall behind.

Hermione exhaled in relief because it had worked, and it had worked on the first attempt. That boded well for the other two distinct rituals.

Viktor silently accio’d a throw blanket from the sitting room and handed it to Hermione. She wondered why for a moment, and then realized that should she get cold, he would be able to perform no spells or charms on her until all of the blood rituals were finished. It was the reason she couldn’t have any healing in between the rituals, unless they wanted to draw the entire process out over the course of weeks.

She put her arms around his neck when he picked her up silently and walked out of the room.

Her hand and foot did hurt when she moved them, or jostled or twitched them, of course, something more than a stinging papercut, but Viktor had been very careful and the cuts were as shallow as he could make them and still draw blood.

“Thank you for cutting perfectly,” she whispered to him.

“I hate your ancestors so much, Hermione,” Viktor whispered back.

“Just think how utterly benign the New Palace will be when we’re done with it. Let’s consider renaming it as well. And possibly covering it with climbing Concordia.”

Viktor barked out a rather harsh laugh that was full of malice. “Concordia versus the Roman Empire of Decadence and Death. Concordia, two. Rome, zero.”

“That’s the spirit,” Hermione said, grinning as he walked across the Great Hall. “Let’s dedicate it to Concordia. We’ll name it after her.”

“Yes. And I will make the first plantings in spring. In three years it will be entirely covered. All the stonework. Is good thing there are no real walls. Climbing variety will not cling to fabric.”

“Mmm, lovely. And what about the Enclosure wall? Will that be a possibility, or a security risk?” she asked as he brought her outside.

“Mory says it is fine to do, and as I go I will teach the farming elves how to properly cultivate the roses.”

“Oh, that is good news. Pampy, let’s put the couch just there, that way it won’t need to be moved but the once.”

“Mory,” Viktor called out sharply and continued speaking when the elf popped in. “Tea will be served by Tampy, so you needn’t worry about that. Please have the elves on each side of the New Palace move themselves to view from the front or the back. There are aspects of this ritual which are very intimate and must not be viewed by others.”

“Yes, Master Krum,” Mory said quietly and snapped his fingers. He was gone, and so was their audience.

“Pampy will stay, but not look, Miss,” her elf said ostensibly to her, but while holding the tips of her ears and looking up at Viktor with large eyes. “Pampy will hold Miss’s hand.”

Hermione watched Viktor smile tightly. “This is acceptable,” he said.

“Right,” Master Harris said, upon reaching them. “Excellent job back there. Very well done. Let’s see if we can do the same all over again.” He handed back the athame, reviewed the instructions again, and they did the same thing, this time with the left palm and the right foot.

A slash, and the walls all just… disappeared.

A cheer rose up from the front and back of the New Palace, which they could now see _through_ , and that was interesting.

“Miss will let me heal her?” Pampy asked with wide eyes. “Healing, and then done. No lingering magic. Not like with witches and wizards. Won’t interfere.”

Hermione looked to her tutor with both eyebrows raised in inquiry.

“I… yes. Um, yes. That... would... probably be fine,” he said. “And if it’s not, then we’ll find out in just a moment and we’ll reconvene in a few days and try again then. Now, it’s a bit of going back and forth, but it might be more convenient for the bloodletting itself if we did both of each type of room together. Perhaps we should begin with the lethargy rooms and work up to the orgy rooms.”

Pampy was already at Hermione’s feet, both hands outstretched but not quite touching. Then the pain in her feet was gone, replaced by a tingling sensation and then one hand, and then the other. Hermione gingerly flexed her feet and her hands.

“Thank you, dear one,” Hermione said to Pampy. “I’d be honored if you’d heal the next rounds as well, but I think I would prefer Viktor heal the last two rounds in private, when we’re all done.”

The house elf nodded silently.

“Well, now that I can walk, I think I’d rather, after all. Right. Okay. Lethargy rooms. I’m ready.”

Master Harris ran through the ritual with them, citing the specific words he would sing that would negate the existing magic, and when each cut would need to be made. This time the back of her right shoulder and the back of her left thigh.

After a bit of negotiation, Hermione and Viktor figured if the robe was on more loosely and she was holding the blanket unfolded up in front of her, holding it to her chest, then the back of her shoulder could be exposed, and he would lift the back of her robe just before he made the cut.

They agreed and she caught his free hand and squeezed it briefly.

“I hate your ancestors so much,” he muttered, looking deeply into her eyes.

“They were clearly rather stupid and so perhaps this is why they died out,” Hermione pointed out gamely.

Then they began and ended the next ritual. Hermione tried not to gasp, but even though she was prepared for it, the slice just underneath her arse stung intensely. As soon as the athame sliced down in the center of the room in her tutor’s hand, Pampy was already healing her leg, and then her shoulder.

“Oh, yes, this definitely took,” Master Harris declared before they walked back around to do the other one.

The other shoulder. Still gasped with the thigh cut. Another room cleared. And her leg and shoulder healed.

And then it was time to mentally prepare for the final set of rituals, which were clearly, _clearly_ triggering something for Viktor.

“Myon, I don’t know if I can do this,” Viktor whispered, standing close to her with his eyes shut. “I don’t know if I can cut you like this.” His voice was almost impossible to hear, except she knew what he would say. “Cutting your thighs was like something out of my nightmares. But your nipples? Your mons? I understand the ritual needs to mirror the original, but perhaps we don’t need to clear these rooms. Perhaps we could just leave them and lock them securely. The security threat is gone and we have reclaimed two of the four rooms. We have so many rooms. We don’t need these.”

“And leave the job half done? No. Let’s finish it, and remove the blight entirely. If you can’t do it, I understand that. I’ll make the cuts. It’s not like I can’t reach these ones.”

“No, no, Myon, I cannot let you do this alone.”

“And I cannot let you do this if it is going to tear you apart, Viktor. Look, it’s my body and my blood and I consent. We’re getting this done and we’re doing this today. Hand me the knife.”

There was a staring contest. No one lost. There was no winner, either.

“No,” he finally said, his voice filled with quiet resolution. “I will do it,” he said quietly. And more loudly added, “we are ready now.”

They walked through the cloister to the next room and standing outside of it, her ritual blood magic tutor walked them through the song and the words on which the bloodletting would need to be happening. Twice more through and Hermione angled herself and undid the tie of her robe, holding it closed with her hands as Viktor stood directly in front of her, his eyes filled with disgust and loathing at her ancestors, and her tutor standing just behind her facing away and off to the side with his hand out for the athame when the time came.

She watched his face as he did it, while Pampy stood to one side. If she’d had a free hand, the house elf would have held it, and even though the logistics of the thing barred the possibility, it might have been more emotionally useful to hold one of Viktor’s, had he permitted such a thing. Which he likely wouldn't have.

Six strides into the center of the room and a firm downward slash through the air, and it was declared done and done well. There was only one left.

The cuts stung and oozed blood, but on the whole she had bled significantly less than she had imagined she would have, thanks to the healing. And she had experienced less pain and discomfort than she’d thought she would have, for the same reason.

Really, this all could have been far worse.

They were walking around, again, when Viktor asked how she was doing. “I’m fine, really I am. And what about you, holding up okay?”

“No,” he answered tightly, and did not elaborate.

“You want me to do the last one?”

“No,” came the same tight answer.

“After tea, we’re going to talk about this, okay? No running away?”

“Yes,” he agreed in the same tone.

“Viktor, you’re not torturing me,” she said quietly. “You’re not. That is not what this is. Look at me. _Look at me, Vitya,”_ she said, finally instilling some iron in her voice as they came to a stop outside the last room to be cleaned. Her tutor was, per usual, giving them a moment to collect themselves.

His eyes met hers and her heart ached for him. “You are not _hurting_ me, Viktor. You’re helping me to clean up the mess of my forebearers. I am _grateful_ that you’ve arranged this. I am _grateful_ that you and Master Harris are doing this and not simply guiding me through the process. I’m _grateful_ not to have to do this alone. _Thank you for helping me, Viktor. Thank you for being brave.”_ Now, she thought, was a time to split hairs on definitions.

“Being brave doesn’t mean you’re fearless. It means you act despite fear. Despite horror. Despite loathing. And sometimes I am fearless, I suppose, and other times the fear consumed me, but I acted anyway, when I had to. After first year and the troll,” she said shrugging and returning to her point. 

“So here’s how this is going to work. You’re going to hold that knife and cut me these last two times. And then the moment the ritual is finished Pampy is going to escort Master Harris to the garden to have some tea and you are going to stand right there and heal me, and then you’re going to come with me while I put my clothes back on and we can both scream our loathing of my debauched and long-dead ancestors, then take a break and have some tea before we go back for round two of cursing their stupidity and short-sightedness and that we might even do with the rest of the Pendragon elves, just because it might be cathartic for all of us, really. Agreed?”

Viktor took a deep breath. “Agreed. We are ready,” he then said in a louder voice, not that of course, Master Harris hadn’t been a party to most of what they had said that morning, but the man was very kind about giving them a veneer of privacy.

Her tutor went over the ritual again, refocusing and preparing them and Hermione steeled herself to not flinch or gasp with these cuts and finally managed to be entirely stoic about it, though it stung like a bitch. At this point she really needed to be strong for Viktor.

The athame slapped into her tutor’s hands. Six strides forward into the room. A downward slash. _“Success!”_

Viktor pulled his wand and intoned Russian cleansing and healing spells over each cut, lingering with great patience, possibly to ensure the most thorough and gentle healing, and so avoid possible scarring. It took several minutes even for four such simple cuts, during which she could hear the Pendragon Elves cheering and mobbing her tutor in the garden, thanking him and telling stories. A part of her was dying to know what the stories were, but she consoled herself with the knowledge that she could get them all to be told again, later. First things first.

Healing. Clothes. Viktor. Tea.

She closed up her robe and tied the sash as he stowed his wand, his face utterly shuttered. She took his hand and took two steps away, but was stopped by the fact that he wasn’t moving. A little yank had her coming back to stand before him, at which point he swept her up into his arms, her knees over his right arm and her back supported by his left. He strode toward The Curtain and the left panel of the tremendous oaken doors opened into the Great Hall before him.

He took the stairs two at a time. Hermione wondered if there was something specific one was supposed to say in a moment like this. Also, she began to thoroughly second-guess all her decisions up until the present point. Had she made all the wrong choices? Should she have put her foot down just sent him away and done the ritual alone with her tutor? Would he have even gone if she’d been firm? Was this, in fact, what he meant when he said she was more courageous than him? But he’d stayed. And he’d done it. He’d begged her to reconsider and when she hadn’t, he’d persevered.

But at what cost?

He put her down on the bed, accioed her black beaded purse, opened it up and summoned the heal-all cream. He knelt down before her and then carefully put it on every cut site, even the thoroughly healed ones. When she took her robe off and stood before him, presenting him with the healed cuts on her shoulders and her thighs he also covered her in the warmth of his magic and it made her shiver for an entirely different reason.

In silence he replaced the cream in her purse and then walked to the window. Facing away from her, ostensibly looking out onto the former Bane of the Pendragons, she could tell that his arms were crossed over his chest.

Silently she sighed and got dressed as quickly as she could. Knickers, bra, jeans, camisole, socks, boots, sweater, and coat, with scarf, hat, and mittens in her purse, if she needed them, and the purse was in her coat pocket. She hadn’t taken any of her jewelry off, nor her wand sheath on her left forearm and so really, it didn’t take as long as it might have done.

“Did you want to talk about anything right now?” Hermione tentatively asked, walking over to him but not quite wanting to touch him when he radiated so much… tension.

“No. We should go down.”

“Um. But we will talk later?” she asked, tentatively. He still hadn’t turned, and despite his words, he hadn’t left the window.

“Yes. Later.”

Oh, _God._ What was he thinking? She had no idea what he was thinking! 

“Um. Okay. Later. But, um. Could I ask just one yes or no question now?”

“Yes,” he answered, his voice terse, a vein twitching in his neck.

“Are you mad at me?”

He sighed and his eyes slashed to hers, a softer glance than the hard glare he was giving, quite possibly, to the New Palace and her builders. “No, Myon,” he said, and his tone was softer too. “I love you. I am envious of your strength. I am ashamed of my fear. I am enraged by the idiots who constructed such charms. And I very much want to scream right now. Or fly very, very fast through a forest. Possibly both. But instead,” he said with a rueful look, “let us go have tea.”

He offered her his arm and they walked back down and out at a rather more sedate pace than the long angry strides that took them inside minutes before.

What they found, when they entered the central garden of the New Palace, was Mory standing on one of the empty banqueting tables, addressing Master Harris, who sat across the way on a low banqueting table, next to a tea set with sandwiches cut into quarters, with sixty-seven house elves sitting in rapt attention and two with a rather mutinous look on their faces, telling a story…

_...about the other seventeen mist doors located around the world?_

_One was in the Vatican? What? What?_

_Powered by ley lines, they were deactivated now, so far away, with the lines so unbalanced, but had the mist remained when the seat was retaken, the doors would have reactivated, and the Bane of the Pendragons would have lived on…_

_Wait, so which Pope was it that would have been participating in Pendragon orgies?_ Hermione tried to remember the pertinent history, but couldn’t recall.

And then she did her best to scrape her jaw off the floor and wipe the incredulous look off her face as she approached the group only to receive a standing ovation, and then a profound bow from, actually, everyone who wasn’t Viktor. Who just kissed her cheek and whispered, “You were marvelous, Hermione.”

“Thank you,” she said weakly, and then went to pour the tea because at this point, she could use a good cuppa. It had been a hell of a morning, and there was still an hour left to it.

* * *

They had both screamed. Once the tea had been drunk. Once the sandwiches had been eaten - mostly by Hermione and her tutor. Once Master Harris had congratulated them on their flawless execution and their dedication to getting the job done, and getting one less bizarre and ancient trap out of the world. Once they had paid her tutor and thanked him for a job well and efficiently done. Once Master Harris had left. They both stood in one of the orgy rooms, looked up to the perfectly rendered and preserved lurid frescoes of orgasming nymphs and satyrs, and they screamed into the past with the fond and sincere hope that it caused discomfort for the applicable ancestor.

Amoral fuckwits.

Blind, selfish bastards.

Arseholes, total arseholes.

Debauched, narcissistic tossers.

And then Viktor let loose a string of invective a paragraph long in Bulgarian.

“What he said,” Hermione added, her tone harder than her words. Which made Viktor laugh, though not for long.

Viktor groaned and rubbed one hand over his face, the other still holding Hermione close to him.

“Master and Mistress have done a good thing, today,” Mory said quietly. He had been sitting just outside the room - though of course there was no real delineation of rooms, now - in the inner cloister before the central garden. With him sat Pampy and Tampy on the other side. The rest of the elves had gone back to their duties. And then the ancient elf asked what might have been a rhetorical question, except it likely wasn’t. 

“Do Master and Mistress know what they have done today?”

Hermione’s eyes cut to Viktor’s and all she could think about was the fact that she really wished she was in the habit of toting around self-inking dictation pens and paper set ups.

“Possibly not,” Viktor answered. “Vill you tell us?”

The old elf looked out, past them, but clearly not at anything specific. “Master and Mistress have removed the burden from the Pendragon Elves. Taken it upon themselves. We had told them no, but they could not hear, could not listen, and they were the masters and mistresses of their ley lines and we had promised to serve. But we were the masters and mistresses of our ley lines. And the Centaurs, and the Merfolk of theirs. The Centaurs counseled patience. The Merfolk counselled betrayal. And the Elves nursed their hatred.

“Hatred is a hard road of poison and pitfall,” Mory said, shaking his head. His eyes focused back on Hermione, and then he looked at Viktor. “Do not take the hatred of your elves with you away from this place. It was never yours to begin with. It will corrupt and destroy. That is what it does.”

“Any suggestion on how to let it go?” Hermione asked.

Mory shrugged. “We Pendragons are very good at nursing our hatreds. Less good at successfully drowning them in the lake.”

Hermione found herself snorting with laughter, just a bit.

Viktor was shaking his head, though what he meant by that was anyone’s guess. He was still rather upset. “But I am so filled with rage and anger, and horror at what I had to do… I don’t know what to do.”

Mory shrugged again. “Empty your cup. As completely as you can. And just in the moment before it fills again with pain, fill it with something else. Kindness. Understanding. Love, perhaps. Something real. Something now. Not permanent. Cups empty. Cups fill. But don’t drink the poison.”

Viktor threw his head back and just screamed. It was deep and guttural and it sounded like it hurt his throat to do it. He took a deep breath and the silence was deafening before he screamed again. And then a silence. And then another scream. And then silence. And a final scream that broke off as his voice broke.

And then they cried. Clinging to each other in the center of a space that once held countless orgies with people from all around the world they wept for the broken trust, the helplessness of the elves, the selfishness of the wizards and witches who cared nothing for their responsibility to others, their duty as monarchs and guardians, but only their personal satisfaction.

When the tears were gone and the wave of pain receded they just held each other.

“Mory,” Viktor said, his voice a gravelly shadow of itself. “Have the appropriate team of elves whitewash the ceilings in the two rooms on this side, and relocate all the furniture here to various other places as you see fit, though none in the Master Suite or the third floor, please.”

“It will be finished today, Master.”

“Thank you, Mory. Thank you very much.”

“It is an honor to serve such fourths as the Master and Mistress,” he said, and Hermione turned her head in time to catch the profound bow he offered them, now that he had stood again.

Hermione detached herself from Viktor and returned his profound bow with one of her own, clasping her hands in front of her. “It is a pleasure to be the fourth to such a first as you, Head Elf Mory.”

“Mistress and Master have vanquished the Bane of Pendragon. Pendragon may now rise once more. Is there anything further Mistress or Master require?”

Hermione answered. “Please tell the rest of the elves that this building has a new name. From now on, we’re calling it _Concordia.”_

“Yes, Mistress. Will Mistress also be renaming the Estate?”

“Possibly, though not right now. ...Mory, do you know the name of this estate?”

“Yes, Mistress,” Mory replied without guile.

“What is it?” Hermione asked, wondering just how much he knew that she would never think to ask.

“Cair Paravel, The Pendragon Stronghold of the Northwestern Crossing.”

Hermione’s jaw dropped. Eventually, when Viktor squeezed her arm, she managed a coherent response.

“Perhaps we’ll keep the name,” she whispered.

* * *

_December 12, 199_  
_ _Cair Paravel_

_Dear Mum & Dad, _

_Well. It seems ages since I’ve last written, but I suppose that is a function of how quickly things develop over here. I hope that you have both been adjusting well as memories return and things shift and change in your mind. I hope it is not too dreadful for you._

_I’ve had quiet word with a few of my advisors and one of them has had a quiet word with the Minister of Magic here in Britain. Certain things weren’t mentioned, of course, but it’s been reported to me that he’s quite sympathetic (the minister) to the need to have smuggled you out of the country under assumed names and that he’s quite impressed with me being able to successfully do it. He’s had you registered with the Australian Magical Parliament as temporary asylum seekers, which is all absolutely true, and they’ve accepted you as such. If you decide you’d like to stay in Australia, that won’t be a problem, we’ll just need to apply for a different residency status for you and you’ll very likely get it if you want it. And if you do decide to stay and resume your former name, the Australian Memory Squad will come out and help with your name change. Not everyone will have their memory adjusted, so there will be also some stories to go around, but a few key people will think they’ve always known you were political asylum seekers._

_Dad, avert your eyes a moment._

_Mum, I just had sex on a broomstick. Sort of. Joint masturbation? I don’t know. I think of it as sex, regardless of the lack of penetration. Whatever. It was sex. You know I hate flying, but I’d mentioned before that Viktor has successfully taught me how, and had bought me, among other things, a tandem broom for my birthday. I’m not sure how clear I was about the sensuality of riding tandem on a racing broom. It’s, well, a rather intense experience, especially as the woman riding in front. I mean, there could be a bit more space between us if we chose, but of course we don’t. And we were out flying because Viktor has taken over the estate management, for which I am so grateful, and he’s been busy planning fields and such like with the farming elves and the Centaurs (not that the latter are resident yet, but there is some consultation with the elves as go-betweens) and so this was my time to ooh and ahh and congratulate him on a job well begun. (I don’t mean to be dismissive. Really I don’t. And I’m so thrilled that he knows how to do this and he wants to do this and he’s going to do this, and because of it the estate will be largely self-sufficient at least for the vegetarian basics, and he’s got such plans to make the estate entirely self-sufficient. I’m so proud of him, and I’m so grateful, and beyond that… oh, I just don’t care. Okay. I’ve strayed far from sex. Feel free to read Dad the bits that aren’t about Viktor and his glorious hands in my pants.) But after about an hour of flying around and occasionally getting off the broom and stretching my legs walking to and fro, we’d largely finished with the survey of the estate and so we went back to look at how the building progress was coming along with the stage and attendant outbuildings and the quidditch pitch and attendant outbuildings._

_Given his profession, it’s probably not surprising that he had a variety of fantasies that involve me and a quidditch pitch, blissfully empty._

_And, well, you know, we happen to_ _have_ _a quidditch pitch that is blissfully empty. I mean, the stands aren’t completely finished yet, but the rings are up and the ground is fairly manicured. And it was Sunday. None of the construction crews were around, and the players weren’t practicing._

_High above the pitch doing rather high-speed laps around the rings to and fro, me with my eyes squeezed shut, him with one hand on the broom in front of me, one hand down my pants, honestly I have no idea how many times he came before I did. Possibly more than just twice, but I really wasn’t paying attention. When finally I did come we landed and right there in the center of the pitch he stripped me bare and ate me like a starved man. The two somewhat back-to-back orgasms he gave me with his face in my pussy almost,_ _almost_ _made up for the terror of flying that fast around the pitch._

_Then again, it had been rather a strange and difficult morning. Long story short, because I really don’t want to relive it again, but I feel you ought to know, Viktor had commissioned my blood magic tutor to figure out how to take down the health and security threat portion of the building formerly known as The New Palace. And he figured it out, and we did the six attendant rituals this morning, it was all successful and the elves are relieved. And so are we. Mostly. But there were some gruesome bits because the modern ritual had to mirror the ancient ritual which was, and let me be clear here, dark and stupid magic. It endangered people’s health and wellness in the short term, and it was a massive security threat in the long term, and all so that the Pendragons could have sex with whomever they wanted, whenever they wanted, as often as they wanted, and then always be able to sleep well afterwards. So saying, I donated the blood, Viktor did the cuts, and Master Harris discretely and successfully performed the rest of the rituals, including, apparently, some eighty different arithmancy calculations over the past week and a half to make sure he was doing everything exactly right. I love it when people are thorough, Mum. I really do. So, there was no area Viktor had to cut that wasn’t difficult, but it also included some of his favorite parts of my body and that was clearly traumatic for him. I had steeled myself well enough, I think, and I’m all healed now, no soreness, no scarring, and the thing is done and done well, so if it weren’t for Viktor being massively upset I’m not sure I would have noticed that I was slightly upset by it all._

_So, we did that. And then we had some time to scream and curse our ancestors (mine and yours, you understand, and Viktor is so clear that he hates them so much, at least a few of them) and you know that was very cathartic, but I was sort of wondering, in the back of my mind, when exactly the hard orgasms would come in, if there would be a round of ‘Tie Viktor To The Bed’ and whether or not the fact that all this came about because the Pendragons were, at some point quite literally insatiable fuckers, would affect his own desire to have sex with this particular Pendragon who is not exactly insatiable, but perhaps there would be a parallel too close for comfort._

_Apparently not an issue for Viktor. Though it remains to be seen if I’ll come out from brushing my teeth tonight and find him tied to the bed. God help him if he uses unpadded rope this time. I’m quite certain that when I turn into (on accident or on purpose) a haranguing harridan, that is not quite the sexy domination he had hoped for. Then again, what do I know?_

_But back to sex. Mum, I absolutely love his hands, and I’m so grateful I can talk to you about these sorts of things. But I love his hands. And he seems to genuinely adore eating me out. He has taken the time and effort to know my body, just like you told me a lover should. And I don’t want to diminish what we share now… and also it’s nineteen days until I can ride his cock and I _ _just can’t wait._

_Well. That’s enough of that for now, lest I have to pause this letter and go importune him at his desk across the way where he is also writing to his parents. And given his upset earlier, I should probably leave him to it._

_So. We are at the Pendragon Castle, which is apparently called, and thank you CS Lewis, (and what did you know, Clive?_ _What did you know and how did you know it?_ _) Cair Paravel, the Pendragon Stronghold of the Northwestern Lines. Lines likely referring to the ley lines. Which then leads one to question, where is the stronghold of the southwestern lines? And the northeastern lines? And so forth, and so on? Are all the strongholds necessary? Is it built-in redundancy? How many were there originally? How many remain? Who are their caretakers? Do any still exist in an active way?_

_The elves have mentioned more than once that the seating will rebalance the ley lines, but I wasn’t aware that they were out of balance, or that such a thing could even occur. And now I don’t have a ley lines tutor, (not that he was all that useful except as a most basic introduction) and I’m probably going to have to go to China to get a decent, knowledgeable one, but I’m so curious._

_Viktor is helping me to reprioritize my workload so I don’t do myself a harm, but there should be time for recreational reading, and so I think the ley lines are going to be on the top of that twin list, for of course I will still have a bit of purely recreational reading. And actually, I spent a bit of time recreating the library we had at home, and all the books you took with you. (There was some intense shopping yesterday, and not all of it was presents for other people.) Viktor had recommended we keep one of the ground floor small libraries stocked with pleasure reading and introductory magic texts for guests and so I introduced my friends to the joys of a used bookshop, as I couldn’t bear paying full price for the sheer quantity of books I wanted to reacquire. Some enjoyed themselves more than others. Harry, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, really quite loved it. I mean, he’s never liked coming book shopping with me before, but of course used bookshops have a feeling all their own, and generally the wizarding world doesn’t have them, I don’t think. I mean, they buy books, plenty of books, but I get the impression they keep them largely without fail, and a family’s library is… part of the inheritance, really._

_So of course, there are fewer cheaply made books in the wizarding world - really just student texts - but Harry is going to practice some of the binding spells he’s been working on learning on all the cheap paperback copies of books I’ve acquired and at the very least (provided the spells don’t incinerate the books) they’ll end up more significantly durable than any paperback had a hope of being before. And at the most, some of them are going to end up as beautiful leather-bound matching sets. He’s going to work on some of that over the Christmas hols and into Easter and he’s hoping that it will be good enough to submit as a student project for a possible apprenticeship as a librarian. He wouldn’t have been expected to work on magical texts at his level, he assures me, but displaying an aptitude for quality book repair and maintenance at a basic level is a necessary thing for a generalist, at least, and for most of the specialities. And given that he wants to be able to be the Pendragon archivist and librarian, the care and maintenance of old books is a must._

_I hope you are well, and do write soon and tell me what happened with Mrs. Selby and the Recalcitrant Tomcat. I’m dying to know the end of the story._

_Love always,  
_ _Hermione_

* * *

_December 12, 199_  
_ _Cair Paravel_

_Dear Master Harris,_

_I cannot thank you enough for the service you have rendered us today. I am grateful for your capacity, your thoroughness, and your very kind discretion. I have appreciated very much your tutoring in these past months and I look forward to its continuance._

_Please consider whether or not you would be willing to continue my tuition beyond my graduation at Hogwarts, after a summer break. There is much I must learn in your field, whether or not I eventually attempt a mastery in it. One cannot be a Pendragon, as you see, without a very firm grasp on ritual blood magic._

_Thank you again, and I look forward to our session tomorrow._

_Sincerely,  
_ _HRM Hermione_

* * *

Hermione emerged from the powder room, teeth brushed, holding her breath slightly. And discovered that Viktor was _not_ tied to the bed.

The ten percent of her that wasn’t relieved she decided to examine later.

Then again, they had had quite a lot of sex today.

The day had begun when she’d automatically woken at five in the morning, slipped out of bed and quickly braided her hair, pulled on her old school skirt - the shorter one - and one of her white button-down shirts, and her tie. She buttoned the shirt, but kept it untucked. She tied the tie, but made it a bit loose. And no knickers. And no bra. And then she’d very carefully and gently crawled back onto the bed, on top of the blankets. 

Viktor was lying on his back and she debated whether or not to try and climb on top of him while he was asleep… No. She might accidentally knee him and that would ruin her little set up. Still, half of his chest was exposed, with the blankets pulled down as they were. 

Hermione leaned over him, braced a hand on the opposite side of his pillow and then gently stroked his chest with her fingertips, calling to him at the same time.

“Viktor!” she whispered. “Viktor, wake up! I have something important to tell you!” She opened her eyes wide and attempted to affect an innocent face.

“Mm. Mm? Myon? What is it?”

“No, Viktor,” she said imperiously. “You’ve got to wake up completely. I’m sorry to have to do it, but your friends did _sneak me aboard this ship_ and I don’t know how long I have. I can’t imagine the detention I’ll have to serve if I get caught. And I’d rather your roommates didn’t walk in, either,” Hermione said in her bossiest tone. In her humble estimation, it was a fair impression of her fifteen-year-old self.

Viktor’s eyes snapped open and after a moment a grin slid over his face. When he spoke, his accent was thicker and his grammar worse. “Vot you do here? Is early, or late?”

Hermione eyebrows went up. “You have a very nice smile, you know,” she pointed out. It wasn’t part of the script in her head, but it seemed like a good adlib.

His grin grew wider. “This is purpose of late visit?” An eyebrow quirked up. “Kneel on bed and make me smile?”

“Oh. Well. No. Yes. I mean, no. I mean, don’t distract me,” she declared. “No, I’m here because I, well, I finally had the courage to tell you that I can’t go with you to the Yule Ball.”

_“Vot?”_ Viktor said, possibly a bit more forcefully than he might have done at seventeen, but then again, possibly he was holding back. The smile was gone.

“Well!” Hermione began, instilling in the single word all the complete certainty she’d ever had that Viktor liked her only as a friend. “I _know_ you only invited me as a friend and because I don’t get all silly over you like the other girls, but today I _realized,_ and, and, I thought, it’s only right. I’ve _got_ to tell him. Because I said yes, you know, just as a friend. _Just like you’d meant._ Only of course now everything is _different. You see?”_

“No. I no see,” Viktor said, scowling beautifully.

“Oh, you’re upset. I know, it’s terrible. You won’t have much time to find another date who won’t be an idiot about you. The choice is rather thin on the ground. You see, that’s why I came tonight instead of trying to pass a note tomorrow. I might not see you tomorrow, and that would be one less day for you. I understand it’s very trying for boys to ask girls to a dance, even if they’re just going as friends.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “You have other boyfriend?”

Hermione looked confused and tilted her head slightly. “Other? _Boyfriend?_ No, Viktor, it’s not like that. It’s just… okay, I suppose I have to just _say_ it. I can’t go with you as a friend because it’s possible that I’ve developed a tiny little crush on you, but don’t worry about it. I’m sure I’ll be over it all in no time. And you’ll be gone soon, and that will be that. Wait, what did you mean by _other_ boyfriend?”

His eyes were still beautifully narrowed. “Vot did you mean by ‘tiny little crush’? Is good thing or bad thing?”

“Oh, it’s a _terrible_ thing! To have a crush on your friend? It means you spend all your time mooning over them like an idiot and wondering if they kiss well, or if that is something you’d have to figure out together... kind of thing. But don’t worry! I won’t be an idiot. I’m nipping this in the bud right now. But I’ll probably need to stop studying with you for a while. And no more walks around the lake. I can’t be trusted. But I’ll probably be okay after the Christmas holidays. Now, what did you mean, _other_ boyfriend? I never said I had one to begin with. I certainly don’t have two.”

Hermione watched as the grin returned and Viktor did what was possibly a very intentional stretch that pulled the blankets a little farther down his chest, and when he was finished, he laced his hands behind his head, putting his highly muscled arms on full display.

Enjoying the roleplay, Hermione let her eyes go wide and stared for a moment at the beefcake on display. It wasn’t hard to be entranced. Her breath came in somewhat shorter pants and that was… well, quite natural really.

“Have your muscles always been this well-defined? Is that… is that quite _necessary_ as a quidditch player?” she whispered, staring hard.

“Hermione,” he said, carefully pronouncing her name.

Her eyes jerked up to his. “Yes?”

“I not ask as friend,” he said slowly, carefully, and with a single eyebrow raised. “I, also, wonder how well you kiss.”

Hermione let her eyes go wide again. “What?”

“Tonight is good time to find out, yes?”

“What?” she simply repeated, loving it all. It felt strangely wonderful.

“Kiss me,” he ordered her, his eyes half closed.

“Oh! Oh. _Oh…_ You mean… you’re a bit silly over _me?”_

“Haff been thirsty for your mouth since August,” he whispered.

_“August!”_ she half-shrieked, but still loving the courage he was offering his younger self. It looked good on him.

“Ssh,” he said quickly, raising one hand to her face and touching her lips with his thumb. “Vont to dance vit no one else,” he said, stroking her lips. “Vont to kiss no one else. Vont to walk around lake vit no one else. Only vit British girlfriend, _Myon.”_

“I… you… think… we’re…”

He looked at her with all earnest, his thumb rubbing just below her bottom lip. “Kiss me. Date me. Go to Yule Ball vit me.”

Her eyes were round. It was definitely time to give in. “Alright,” she breathed.

The hand at her face slid around to her neck and slowly and gently pulled her down and his other hand came out from behind his head and that hand went to her waist. Hermione gasped for good measure and it did feel rather delicious.

When the kiss happened, it was lovely. Not as tentative as their first kiss in some ways, and moreso in others.

“Is okay?” Viktor asked when she had surfaced.

She licked her lips silently with wide eyes.

He grinned in response, and then got serious again. “Ven year is done. School year is done. You… Vill you… give permission… for me… to… court you?”

Eyes still wide, she responded. “I’m fifteen.”

“Then sixteen. Then seventeen. Marriage waits. Yes. But all everywhere are boys and they wake up to your beauty, your power, your strength. Should I wait? And lose you to them?” He shook his head. “Let me win your love, Hermione,” he said slowly and clearly.

She bit her lip and smiled at the same time, then nodded shyly. She leaned in and kissed him and the kiss went deeper this time.

The whole scenario was going deeper than she’d anticipated, but Hermione was still enjoying herself, so she decided not to worry about it too much.

Viktor gasped and tore his mouth away from hers. “Did you hear sound? Someone comes.”

“Oh, no!” Hermione gasped and tried not to smile. “I should hide.” She scrambled _over_ him and off the other side of the bed. She watched as he scooted over and lifted up a corner of the covers.

“Come. In here. Hide vit me.”

“Eek!” she said, and did her best to dive in, cuddling up quite conveniently against his solid, muscled, entirely naked body that radiated heat. Her head was at his chest and he covered it and in the dark she grinned and let her fingers explore a bit, and then she couldn’t help laughing.

He lifted the covers and looked down at her with an eyebrow raised. “They have discovered us,” he said in his normal tone, “and it is all your fault, Myon. Now our fantasy selves have detention for weeks.”

Hermione laughed and crawled up his body, straddled his hips and sighed to feel his hard length press against her even as she trapped it against his body. “Well, I was fifteen and I’d just found out that you loved me. I couldn’t actually imagine going any farther at that point. In my mind, _then_ , there was hand holding and sweet kisses and it might have progressed to long embraces and deep kisses, but it certainly wouldn’t have gone so quickly from hand holding to cock holding and from deep kisses to you kissing my pussy.”

He grinned. “And when would that have occurred, do you think?”

“Well,” she said, considering things and wiggling on top of him for good measure. “If I and my parents had come to visit you over the summer, and then you came and spent Western Christmas with us at which point I’d be sixteen, I think at that point I would have been thoroughly in love with you, and things could have escalated then, and then perhaps we would all travel together over Western Easter, and things would have escalated then as well, and given our parents they would have only encouraged us. And perhaps by Easter I would have accepted you and we would have decided on a long engagement, so possibly then, but with absolute certainty by the next summer when we came to visit you and your parents, definitely at that point I would be sneaking into your bed at night and going just as close to a penetrative orgasm as we dared. So. I would be sixteen, nearly seventeen. You would be just nineteen. Not sure how we explain the fact that I’m in uniform, but there you go.”

“Ah,” he said, his eyes alight with humor. “Is because I have great plan I work out with your parents. I come to pick you up in Hogsmeade at end of year, before you board train. I take you and luggage via portkey directly to The Rosary. Your parents, they come later, in time for dinner. You are so impatient for me, for my kisses, you tear my clothes off, you insatiable maenad, you. We barely make it to my bedroom before undressing, and have I carried you there, wrapped around my waist. I have managed to get some of your clothes off before we collapse on the bed and you are astride me like a broom.” His hands rose to her tie and released the knot bit by bit until each side simply hung down. And then he unbuttoned her shirt starting at the top. She unfastened the buttons at her wrists, but then it just hung open and Hermione watched as Viktor stared at her breasts, panting and finally cupping them with both hands. He groaned deeply, his thumbs rubbing around her nipples.

“Myon,” he groaned. “You grow only more beautiful.”

She smirked down at him. “You’re just saying that because you’re desperate for sex.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Who was it who tore my clothes off?”

Hermione shrugged, grinning. And then she swirled her hips.

He groaned and gasped and encouraged her to continue. The touch of his hands on her breasts grew harder, firmer as he started deeply massaging them the way she liked.

She moaned his name. “I’ve missed you,” she panted. “Not even your letters, as beautiful as they are, not even they fill the space you leave,” she whispered.

Viktor’s stare was intense and his voice came out something like a growl. “You will let me eat you? Feast at your banquet? And drink my fill?”

“Yes,” she breathed out, and then he took her shoulder in one hand and her hip in the other and rolled them in an odd sort of twisting motion that left them lying diagonally across the large bed. As he made his steady way down her body he paused to lick and suck her nipples just a tiny bit, just enough to make her want so much more. And then his mouth was there, at her core and she was crying his name. And another time again, after he had waited for her to come down and rest, his head lying on her thigh, his face nuzzling her mons, her skirt pushed up and out of the way.

“I love you, Myon,” he said after her second orgasm of the morning, and she didn’t know if they were still roleplaying or not, but perhaps it really didn’t matter.

Her hand was resting lightly on his head, her fingers combing through his hair.

“I love you, Viktor Krum,” she murmured in response. “I love you forever.”


	37. Chapter 32, part 1: Wherein compassion is accidentally built.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All plot lines take one firm step forward, then duck! 
> 
> This chapter will be updated in two parts, because it is 25 pages long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter in two parts includes a reference from LessWrong's Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality, which is an excellent fic, and complete.

_ The Feast Day of the Virgin of Guadalupe,  
_ _ in the first year of the reign of Hermione of Avalon  
_ _ in a high tower of a bleak Scottish castle  
_ _ about whom lies have been told for generations _

_ My beautiful Lord Malfoy, _

_ Thank you for taking me to dinner last night. I had a lovely time, and it was wonderful to see you again. It was wonderful, too, to have the luxury of private speech with you. _

_ I meant everything I said, and I meant it as completely as one can mean such things. _

_ I hope the day finds you well, and if it doesn’t provide you with visions of life-changing and life-affirming women, at least you may recall that there are those in this world who love you. _

_ Your quite sincere suitrix,  
_ _ Luna _

_ PS - I have had a brief audience with the Headmistress and she has assured me that she would not kick you out should you escort me to the Yule Ball. She would, however, dance with you if asked. Did you know she’d forgiven Headmaster Snape? Her Majesty told me, and I don’t think I’m breaking a confidence to tell you. _

* * *

_ December 13, 199_  
_ _ Malfoy Manor _

_ To the Honorable Miss Lovegood, _

_ My mother has threatened to never speak to me again if I do not escort you to the Yule Ball, and so, knowing I shan't be kicked out if I show my face, I concede. I would be honored to escort you on the Solstice. Please let me know if there is a password to get through the front gates and when I may meet you in the grand entrance to the castle. _

_ I have no answer as yet to your other query. I trust to your patience in this matter. _

_ Your servant,  
_ _ DM _

* * *

_ December 13, 199_  
_ _ Malfoy Manor _

_ Dear sister, _

_ Help. Mother found out (because in a moment of weakness and filial affection I told her, more fool me) that Luna asked me to the Yule Ball and that I refused her, and the hysterics I have been expecting for some time finally occurred. Happily, Luna has been resubmitting her offer regularly and so it was more or less easy to graciously change my response. But if Mother were to find out that Luna has also asked me to marry her and that I put her off without answering, hysterics would not be the term for what would follow. _

_ Merlin, Hermione. What do I do? I really had expected my parents to arrange this, as their parents had for them, and so on and so forth back possibly to the time of the Pendragons. And despite the fact that this is clearly the lady my mother would choose for me had I not been of an age and already inherited, it’s also not clear to me that the entire system of parents choosing their children’s spouses displays any particular wisdom beyond the consolidation of power. _

_ And yet what do I know of love? How could I choose a spouse on the basis of that of which I know nothing? I am in the middle of a lake with no wand and no oar and my boat has holes in, Hermione. What do I do? _

_ Adrift,  
_ _ D _

_ PS - wine, cheese, pair with pears, and do you get any studying done up there or is it all important meetings and wine and cheese parties? _

* * *

_ December 13, 199_  
_ _ Hogwarts Castle _

_ Clueless One, _

_ Forgive the enclosed flowchart. It’s a highly useful non-magical decision help. Start where it indicates and when you follow the yes-no-maybe decisions all the way through, how you feel at the end will be a useful indicator as to whether or not your head and your heart are at all pointed in the same direction. For instance, if you are filled with dread by the answer you get, that’s a good indicator that your heart is not on board with your head’s decisions, and you probably shouldn’t do it, or at least not now. _

_ On a personal level, I think so long as you are willing to be relatively open with her, willing to continue to grow as a person into the lovely individual God intended you to be, and find her an engaging companion… well, I think you should go for it. Being ‘in love’ doesn’t seem to be the highest priority for you, nor consolidating power, despite the fact that you’d be marrying a young media magnate with a vision for profound expansion in her chosen field, and at least in the non-magical world that is significant power. But you know, I don’t think that’s why Narcissa likes her for you. Not that your mother has confided in me entirely, but I was aware she was attempting to matchmake. It’s my guess (and it is just a guess) that Narcissa sees something beautiful and pure in Luna, something that could bring out the same in you, and if anyone knows the excellent person you’re truly capable of being, it’s your mother. _

_ In a sense, I’m rediscovering this for myself, in my own life. I think who we surround ourselves with, I think that matters to a rather profound degree. It’s not about house affiliation, but I think there’s a reason that houses can foster as well as nurture. For myself, I want to be around people who have different strengths than my own, but people who are incredibly strong in their own right. Then I feel, like a flower with the sun coming in from all directions, I can grow perfectly straight and perfectly strong myself, and also add to their lives in a way they might not otherwise have. But as my mother always told me - if you want to run a marathon, hang out with people who run marathons. They’re the ones, after all, who can look at you honestly, all your flaws and all your strengths and tell you truly that if you want it, you can have it. And it’s as easy as that. Other people might tell you the same, but what do they know? _

_ So that’s my advice. Whether or not you decide to marry Luna, surround yourself with the people who are where you want to be, Draco. _

_ Your sister with all the clues,  
_ _ Hermione _

_ PS - for the record, you are one of those people who have strengths different than my own, and I’m glad you’re in my life in the way you now are. No arguments. You are. _

_ PPS - thanks for the wine and the cheese. You’re an absolute peach. (And this is not the strength I was referring to.) And for the record, Viktor has helped me to pare down my todo list so I don’t work myself into an early grave. _

_ PPPS - save me a dance on the solstice, yeah? I’m glad you’re coming. Use my floo. ‘Pendragon Suite, Hogwarts.’ Luna’s getting ready with us, so we can all walk down together. _

_ PPPPS - it’s official, by the way, or will be the day of my coronation, Your Grace, Duke Black Malfoy. (You’re welcome. And if you ever try to overthrow me, I will punch you in the face again. Just as a kind, sisterly act.) _

* * *

_ Bouillabaisse Day,  
_ _ first year of the reign of Hermione of Avalon,  
_ _ the tower of Ravenclaw,  
_ _ the castle of Hogwarts,  
_ _ the country of Scotland _

_ To my dear Lord Malfoy, _

_ I am thrilled to hear that you will join me on the solstice. Thank you for changing your mind.  _

_ Her Majesty has extended the use of her floo to you, the address which your mother can share (forgive my reluctance, I use school owls, as you see) and the time is seven in the evening. My dress is the color of frosted bluebells, should you care to know, and matches beautifully the pair of Short-Snout heels that Her Majesty has given me as a belated birthday gift. _

_ You may trust to my patience in all things, Lord Malfoy. My patience, my respect, and my honor, which I lay at your feet. _

_ In other news, Her Majesty has invited us to view an exhibition game this Saturday between the Ely Inferi and the Bristol Billiwigs, to be held at The Canopy in Bristol, which I hear is lovely, and has actual billiwigs which remain in the wards. I think it would be lovely to go with you, and I hope you’ll say yes. _

_ Also, have you already a plan for the gift the House of Malfoy will offer for the celebration of your sister’s coronation? I would not wish to be presumptuous, but if you hadn’t any solid plans, I had a thought or two. _

_ Your ardent and patient suitrix,  
_ _ Luna _

* * *

Hermione had made a short list of questions to ask Mory, in addition to the secrets he knew that he thought she might not know that they were slowly working through, and the recent portfolios of portrait painters that had arrived had made her think about the fact that Hogwarts was filled to the brim with paintings and her own castle had none. None left in the buildings themselves, and none in the vault.

After the report out, some of which happened between Mory and Viktor, who was blissfully domestic in all the ways Hermione was not, Hermione asked her question.

“Mory, were there, to your knowledge, paintings at Cair Paravel?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Do you know where they are?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

Hermione gave him an arch look. “Are you going to tell me?”

“Yes, Mistress.” He paused to grin. “They were taken for safekeeping. We store them in the Come and Go Room, but not the one that burned.”

Hermione’s eyes went wide. Suddenly she realized that if you took the painting out of time, like everything in the vault was, then that might disrupt any other version of the subject who was painted and remained in time. It would be tricky, at least. And at most it might, sort of… kill them, to break the connection like that. And unlike Excalibur, they couldn’t be stored in the water. And unlike the signet ring and the torc, they couldn’t be stored with the Monarch of the Isle.

“Right,” she said quietly, letting her thoughts come back. “How many paintings have survived?”

“Only one, undamaged. The rest began to deteriorate when the ley line began to shrink. There are twelve others.”

“What sort of damage does it look to be?” Viktor asked.

“They live no more, paintings only.”

“Who were the subjects of the twelve?” Hermione asked.

“Former Monarchs of Avalon, Mistress. The last twelve, besides yourself, Mistress. Before that the paintings were destroyed by Aelred the Mad, 50th Pendragon Regent of Avalon. It was he who added the blood magic to Concordia, Mistress.”

_ “Aelred the Mad,”  _ Viktor hissed and Hermione leaned over to rest a hand on his forearm. She had more questions, first.

“I suppose Aelred’s painting remains?” Hermione sighed.

“Yes, Mistress, though it has died.”

“Right. Let’s get all the Pendragon paintings out of Hogwarts before the elves move. But let’s earmark those dead paintings for the vault for now. 

“Now. What about this last painting that still lives? Why did it survive, if you know?”

“It was the only Pendragon painting to be painted in Hogwarts, Mistress, without using the lines to support.”

“Really,” Hermione said, not expecting that. “Who’s the subject?”

“It’s the Founders of Hogwarts, Mistress.”

“Oh,” Hermione said in a rather flat tone. “Well. I certainly have a few words for Master Slytherin, after the events of second year.” Mory looked confused, and Hermione leveled her gaze at him.  _ “The basilisk?”  _ she hissed, still all things considered, reining in her rage fairly well.

Mory’s eyes went round. “Mistress Pendragon has not had many quiet years in this castle,” he said gently.

“I haven’t had any quiet years, Mory. Not one,” Hermione said, beginning to lose her patience with all of Hogwarts, wholesale. Then she felt Viktor’s hand on her forearm and she took a deep breath. “Right. Well. Do bring up the Founder’s painting and put it on the wall here, but can you charm it so no others can wander through it?”

“Yes, Mistress. It has already been charmed this way.”

“Right. Well, depending on how things go, this one may also end up in the vault.” Hermione took a deep breath. “Right. So. Mory. When we’re done here, bring that portrait in, and have someone get together some cocoa and chocolate things, and have someone go find Luna Lovegood and ask her if she’d be willing to come and join us for catharsis, if she’s not too busy. And I think… Well, I think I’d like to view the painting of Maria III before it goes in the vault, and Viktor?”

_ “Yes,”  _ he hissed. 

“And we’ll also need the painting of Aelred the Mad, briefly.”

Mory had an entirely straight face as he stood from his stool by the fire, bowed, and disappeared, along with the stool.

Hermione got up and tossed the pillow back on their sofa. “I’ve got to get Harry and Ginny. And Neville, if he’s around and up for some catharsis. Are you able to send a patronus, or are you too upset? Or, no, wait, do you know a charm to keep a picture in its frame?”

“Yes, no, no,” Viktor replied, rubbing his hands over his face. “Who am I calling?”

“Narcissa, if she’s available. I’d like her to cast the spell to keep the founders in frame, at least temporarily. I mean, if we’re going to scream at them, it might help. And while none of us speaks Latin, Harry and Salazar will apparently only be able to speak parseltongue to each other. And that  _ will  _ be handy,” Hermione said grimly, heading toward the door as Viktor got to his feet and pulled his wand.

Hermione went into the common room, but no one was there. She knocked on Ginny and Harry’s door, denoted, amusingly, with a modified version of the Potter shield - it was on a sable background, as hers was now, and the large pot underneath crossed wands had a little dragon on it. Hermione’s had a dragon rampant, holding a little pot in one hand.

“Yeah, come on in!” she heard Ginny call.

Hermione stood in the doorway with her arms crossed. Ginny was facing away, working at the desk.

“I’m sorry to bother you. If you’re on a tight deadline we can do this later.” 

Ginny looked up and around. “Uh, no, it’s a longer one, but it’s not due till next Monday. Weekends just fill up, you know? You look a bit… tense. Everything alright?”

Hermione bit her lip before answering. “Have you ever just wanted to yell at Salazar Slytherin, but lacked a portrait to yell at?”

Ginny’s eyes narrowed. “Not specifically, no. But now you mention it, what an appealing idea. Have you suddenly discovered The Lost Portrait of Slytherin in your bottom desk drawer? Because I’m sure the Pendragon Historian would like to know.”

Hermione snorted and almost grinned. 

“Right. Let me call Harry.” Ginny focused her eyes on the middle distance and manifested her patronus which was an extremely large magical bird that Hermione couldn’t immediately identify. “Love, we need you and Saucepot to come and yell at a portrait with us. We’re in the suite,” she whispered.

She put her pen down and got up to join Hermione.

“Is that an augury?”

Ginny nodded. 

Hermione shifted and knocked on Neville’s door. His crest was a tree. It was a nice tree. He’d told her it was an ash, but honestly Hermione wondered how you could tell. After a moment, he answered.

“Wocher, Hermione,” he said, smiling. 

“Hey, Neville. We’re going to scream at portraits and eat a lot of chocolate. Are you in?”

Neville blinked, his eyes momentarily wide. “Let… me get some handkerchiefs,” and was back in a moment.

Just then there was a knock on the suite door. Ginny went to answer it and it was Luna. Once the young woman came in, Ginny peeked her head out the door. The Library was on the third floor, as they were, but on the other side of the castle. But on  _ most  _ days you didn’t need a set of staircases to access it. Except for the odd fourth day of a full moon. Which it wasn’t. The full moon was another week away, and this month wouldn’t have four days of it.

“You called, Your Majesty?” Luna asked with a smile.

Hermione’s eyes widened. “Oh, dear. I hope I wasn’t being imperius.”

Luna was still smiling. “No, I clearly had a choice. But any excuse for personal growth, I say. What’s today’s excuse?”

“I just discovered that I own a portrait of the four founders. And if they’re in frame, we’re going to lock them there for a bit so we can yell at Slytherin.”

“What a bloody good idea,” Harry said, swearing as he came in the portrait door.

“Yes,” Luna agreed. “There are days I think they should have left all administrative decisions to Hufflepuff. She was clearly better at them.”

“Right,” Hermione said, taking a deep breath as Harry put his things down in his room. She turned around and faced her study door, which she had closed behind her out of habit. “Right, let’s do this.”

* * *

_ December 15, 199_  
_ _ Hogwarts Castle _

_ Dear Elizabeth, _

_ Oh, so much to report out. _

_ Viktor, Master Harris my ritual blood magic tutor, and I mitigated the health and security risks in the castle whose name I now know - Cair Paravel, and can you just believe it? - and while the process was not literally scarring on a physical level, it might have been had we not healed me so well, and it certainly will leave its emotional scars at least on Viktor who did the cutting. Reversing dark magic is usually about as ugly as doing it to begin with, and you might have thought I’d know that already in a deep way, given my arm. Hm. Come to think of it, I don’t think we ever discussed my scars, the physical ones, I mean. _

_ I have permanent scars from various battles and excursions in the war, which probably doesn’t surprise you. The curse from Dolohov in the battle in the ministry that almost eviscerated me, well, no, I suppose it did eviscerate me, I was just gotten to quickly enough and healed, well that left a bright purple 6cm wide scar from my navel to my breastbone. And then of course Bellatrix Lestrange left a scar on my arm with a cursed knife, which certainly qualifies as dark magic, and going through the healing of that required further, deeper, and more ongoing trauma. And then I failed to abide by the terms of the healing entirely, so I am still somewhat cursed, thought at least under most circumstances the pain is entirely gone. _

_ Moving right along, after we finished mitigating the threats at CP, then we discovered in some measure just how deep the security threat really was. There were, essentially, seventeen other secret entrances to CP all around the world, primarily instituted so one of my ancestors could have orgies whenever he liked at great convenience with whomever he liked. And none of them worked now, because they were all powered by the ley lines, apparently, but taking the seat is going to do something to the ley lines, and there was at least a chance that the doors would reopen, and then there goes security. _

_ And we thought, Viktor and I, that we had largely dealt with the rage and shame and embarrassment of going through the rituals essentially in reverse (long story short, very nearly every sensitive part of my body save my face had to be cut for this ritual and it almost broke Viktor to do the cutting. I mean, I offered for the ones I could reach, but he wouldn’t let me do it alone) but then, Elizabeth,  _ _ then _ _ we were faced with the (dead) portrait of the idiot ancestor in question who brought it all to pass to begin with. Aelred the Mad, 652-666 AD, died of dragonpox and you get one guess as to how he got it, with two hints. First hint, begins with beast-. Second hint, ends with -iality. _

_ I stopped Viktor from incinerating his portrait - a tiny thing, but apparently they all were then, barely larger than the palm of my hand, and of course the painting looks exactly like you’d imagine an illustration from an illuminated gospel from that time would look, so, to modern eyes, rather cartoonish. And this particular portrait clearly knew it was dying and did not go gracefully and gently into the night, though I’m not sure why I would have imagined anything less from that particular idiot. Face wracked with horror, arms splayed out, hands seemingly gripping the frame from within. _

_ Maria III’s portrait did go gently into the night, eyes open, a small smile on her face, hand outstretched and touching the barrier between viewer and viewed. I’ll save it for you and put it in the salon reserved for your use when you stay so you can see it, though I think sooner or later I’ll put all the dead portraits in the vault. _

_ Now, I think I’ve mentioned before that a portrait can be partial or complete, and that’s not a reference to the painting itself, or the artwork, but the level of memories and personality endowed by the original to the painting. The portrait of Headmaster Snape could authorize a second one only because it was a complete and not a partial, and also there were other essential ingredients that happened to be in storage. (Ideally blood, but we had a vial of memories freely given, and that will work.) A partial is more like a snapshot in time, everything up until the painting was executed which, for the purposes of where I’m going with this, means that crucial about-faces made later in life are not included and if, to take a random example, one happened to come into possession of a partial portrait of the founders of Hogwarts and, to continue this entirely random example and highly speculative hypothetical situation, one wanted to rant and rave in a cathartic fashion at Salazar Slytherin for leaving a basilisk in the basement, one would be sorely disappointed to do so not at his older, cynical, and entirely-willing-to-kill-certain-types-of-children self, but instead at his younger, idealistic, friendly, and only slightly-snobbish self. And to see a portrait of a teensie, adorable, benign snake on his arm, no larger than a garter snake, and to realize this, in fact, was the fifty-foot basilisk that tried to kill us all in second year… well, catharsis was rescheduled and compassion was accidentally built instead. Disappointing, in a way, but hardly the only shocking moment in the situation. _

_ My theory of Maria III recruiting her friends to protect the children and found Hogwarts? This has been updated. It wasn’t Her Majesty Maria III. It was her daughter, Princess Maria, or more colloquially, Maria the Squib. _

_ The reason Hogwarts as a castle was built in a single day? It wasn’t the lost magics of the four founders. It was the blood of all  _ _ five _ _ founders in ritual magic performed by the only one of the group who was a mistress of the art. The squib. I’ll grant you, they were all willing, and all of them gave the best years of their lives, all their elves, and their names to the endeavor. And Maria Pendragon stayed for the first few years, and when the ley lines started to weaken, she left. And before she did, they had the portrait painted. _

_ And so, I have a picture of the five founders of Hogwarts. It’s bizarre. Two out of the three swords pictured I have seen, only Slytherin’s has been lost to time. Three other items depicted became some of Tom’s horcurxes, and we killed them. The snake has been dead for a few years now. Only three artifacts depicted survive and are still useful; Griffyndor’s hat and sword, and Excalibur, which the Princess apparently wore until she left, and gave it up to the merfolk, taking the charmed scabbard with her. (And that solves that question.) _

_ And apparently all the founders created secret chambers and it was something of a bit of a giggle for them. They were all differently secret, with Salazar’s being the most, Helga’s being the least, and the others somewhere in between. The Chamber of Hard Work and Practice is accessible from the badger den for any who demonstrated the need and if I understand correctly from my little Hufflepuff friends, it’s a normal part of their common room, and explains why it’s so enormous. The Chamber of Secrets is open only to parselmouths, of course, but apparently there is also down there a library and a laboratory. Harry is going to discuss that with the Headmistress shortly. The Pendragon Suite is Maria’s secret place, and it’s meant to be connected with CP, though I can’t figure out how, and so I’ll be asking my Head Elf about that, too. Ravenclaw has a Chamber of Knowledge which is apparently the Ravenclaw Tower Library, which of course is more extensive than the common Library, but only open to Ravenclaws. The only one we haven’t found (I say we, but you know, between me, Harry, and antiquity, we) is Godric’s. He was being squirrelly about it, though I wonder if we could have been speaking Latin directly to him if he might have been more forthcoming. As it was we had to speak using the parselmouths as interpreters, because a parselmouth can only speak parseltongue to another parselmouth. So Harry, Saucepot (his therapy snake), Salazar, and the basilisk, could all speak freely and honestly. (Parseltongue admits no lies, though prevarication runs rampant, apparently.) _

_ But how do you crush the dreams of long-dead innocents by telling them the brutal decisions they made/would make when seventy years of life and pain and misunderstandings jades them beyond repair? And it’s not that they didn't believe Harry. Of course they did. But they still live at the crossroads of hope and opportunity and they have not yet… well. They have not yet done anything they might regret, and so do not know what it is to live with the crushing weight of it. Despite the fact that they were all in their thirties in the portrait, it was a little like talking with my little Hufflepuff friends, the first years who are so innocent. _

_ Is this what it’s always going to feel like, Elizabeth? Talking with people who have never had to face the deprivations and degradations of war? People who have no frame of reference whatsoever for the utter horror involved in dealing with other people’s terrible decisions that force your hand? _

_ Now, to answer a previous question, details about Draco. A spoiled brat as a child, and he attempted to bully us, but of course you can’t bully people who know their own strength. We’ve hexed each other multiple times. I’ve punched him in the face once. Viktor remembers him as he was in his fourth year, a loathsome little toad. But it strikes me that Draco was always… sort of a small-time crook. And when he was forced into the big time, exposed to murder, rape, torture, and the depredations of war criminals, and asked to commit murder himself, that was his line. And pushed over it, he started to break. (It’s worth pointing out that Harry had killed more people by the time he was twelve than Draco has ever killed, even now.) And now he seems… hollow. Washed clean. You can still see the cracks, some hairline, some gaping with bits missing. (Much like Harry, actually. Much like many of us. Alright, much like me.) And now he’s focusing, apparently, on the work his father never wanted to do - the family business, which is mostly wine in wine regions, which also means it’s mostly a non-magical enterprise and that’s something not entirely popular with the pureblood elite in Britain. He’s not a toad anymore, but a genuinely decent human being, and I like him. _

_ Well, that’s it for today. Still haven’t found an almanac of the wizarding world, but I’ve been bringing this up to my wizarding world history tutor and we have had a rather fascinating conversation on the subject. I’m going to put on my list getting the current history teacher at Hogwarts replaced (he’s a ghost, the lessons never change, the tests never change, and it’s as boring and dry as you can possibly imagine) with someone more like my tutor.  _

_ And now I have yards and yards of red fabric that I must go ooh and aah over and congratulate my fabric elves on jobs exceedingly well done, and then I must pick out the artists for portrait commissions.  _

_ Hope you and all are well over there, and I’m glad you’ll be able to escape to Sandringham soon. _

_ Love,  
_ _ MI6 _

_ PS - I bet it’s his hat. I bet Godric’s ‘secret chamber’ is his hat. No wonder he was squirrelly about it. Bloody hat. _

* * *

Hermione had the portfolio books of half a dozen portrait painters spread out across the Round Table and was making notes. Three were in whatever school of realism dominated the hallways of Hogwarts, but the other half represented some alternative schools. One was a master in watercolors that just seemed softer and somehow sadder, or at least somewhat more poignant in some of the pieces in the portfolio. One was a master in surreality that put one in mind of Dali, but which, apparently, was just as viable as portraits went. One was a master in a style that reminded Hermione an awful lot of Disney animation.

The first priority was to figure out which artist would paint the Headmaster, and perhaps all the Knights, but certainly that one.

The second priority was to figure out which artist would paint which of the other many portraits that Hermione also needed to have done within the next year or two.

“This one,” Viktor said, tapping a book. “Of all the realists, this one seems to capture vitality and emotion best of all. Is not difficult once the subject dies, but this one demonstrates that well beforehand. I like this one for the Headmaster, and for any of your portraits that we might regularly see.”

Hermione looked that particular book over again and made more notes before sitting back and sighing. “Now, the portraits in this castle all range from medium sized to extra-large. But I’m rather taken with the Pendragon portraits that are more photograph sized. Smaller propensity to dominate a room, you know?”

Viktor shrugged. “They need not be huge, certainly. Such is a mind bent on grandiosity, or hiding doors behind them. We have need of neither. Ours can be small, and medium small.”

Hermione sighed and looked up from her book. “So… I just wanted to be clear that I’ll have a portrait commissioned of Ronald as well as Harry, Neville, and the Headmaster.”

Viktor’s face remained placid. “For him, I like this one,” he said, nudging the surrealist painter’s portfolio forward.

Hermione hid a smile and arched her brow instead. “Well, I had considered the watercolor for Harry, perhaps on a background of the Great Library at Alexandria, and then if we do Neville in the third alternate style, perhaps in a greenhouse or a great garden of his choice, then the four knights represent all four schools of art, and that could work.”

“Do not forget there will be five knights, Myon.”

She smiled. “Yes. I thought I would have mine be with books, of course, possibly in a library, and something you wouldn’t mind having on your desk.”

“In that case, I want you looking like Aphrodite. In red leather. With books. From this one,” he said, tapping his favored realist.

Hermione smirked. “I’d also like one of you, for my desk. And this one, and perhaps only this one, I would like you on a broom, with goggles on your head. Possibly with the quidditch pitch at Cair Paravel. From our favorite realist painter, I think.”

Viktor smirked right back and leaned into her. They were not alone in the room, and often the suitemates spread out of an evening after supper between the common room and her study. Had they been alone, he might have said something more, but as it was he just gave her a meaningful look, possibly about the request for the goggles.

She couldn’t help it, though. The rest of his quidditch gear was neither here nor there, but when he was wearing goggles and pushed them up on his head after the game finished?  _ Adorable. And strangely, wonderfully hot. _

Hermione leaned in and kissed the oft-broken bridge of his nose. He really needed to stop meeting the ground, nose first.

“Let’s wait for my portrait,” he began, “until the Enclosure wall and Concordia are covered in white climbing. I think I would like them in the background.”

Hermione nodded silently and continued making notes and instructions for a while. When she was finished she piled all the portfolios and her notes into one stack and sat back. 

“Right, then. That’s done, and Neville will handle most of the rest of that.”

“Harry?” Hermione called. He was laying on her couch, reading, possibly with Saucepot on his chest.

“Yeah?” he called back, sounding drowsy. Possibly he had taken an impromptu nap, instead.

“I need you to sit for a portrait, okay? You and Saucepot?”

“Mkay.”

Viktor silently rose from the table and Hermione watched as he gently coaxed Harry, like a father might, to get up and go to bed. Holding his book and his snake for him both men left the room and left Hermione smiling sweetly, looking after two of the men she loved most in the world.

Viktor was back moments later. Hermione rose to greet him and pulled him into a deep kiss. It was a thorough kiss. It was a hitch-her-leg-around-his-waist-and-do-some-assisted-climbing kiss. She did this on the assumption that she was alone. It was a fair assumption to make, as there was no one else in the room.

Except for the quite small ancient Anglo-Saxon cartoon of the rather young and not-at-all-jaded five founders of Hogwarts that now sat on the fireplace mantel.

Wolf-whistling and clapping and cheering in Latin ensued.

Hermione was vaguely aware that one of Viktor’s hands was no longer holding her up, and that arm shot out briefly behind him in the direction from which the cheering emanated. A clatter and the sounds of several versions of a disappointed and somewhat muted “Aww!” filtered through her awareness, but most important of all, Viktor’s hand came back and the next thing she was clearly aware of, beyond the feel of his body and the luscious nature of his lips was the fact that he was pressing her into the mattress in the next room.

“Sixteen days,” he murmured against her lips. His hands were beneath her shirt, which this evening happened to be his Vratsa jersey.

She unhooked her legs from around his waist because she had a fond hope that she wouldn’t be wearing so many clothes very shortly, and clearly the best way to make that happen was not to be totally entwined with him.

Still kissing her, Viktor rolled them on the bed, groaning in pleasure as she settled on top of his hips.

Hermione whipped her shirt off and unfastened the button and zip of her jeans, but of course taking them off would mean dismounting from Viktor and that was not the best idea in the world. It was a hard choice, really. Nakedness, but needing to part, or staying together but having clothes in the way. Very difficult choice.

His hot, hard hands were all over the skin that was bare, and as she thought he might, he dealt with her bra, tossing it over one side of the bed. With his hands roving over her came also the warming charms which made her gasp in pleasure as she felt the intensity of his magic flood all around her, pressing tightly and intimately against her skin, bared and covered alike.

Every time he did it, she felt it just a tiny bit better than the last time. This time it made her groan and pause as she breathed deeply and just  _ felt it.  _

She wasn’t wearing her quite tight jeans and so as she sat astride him she could still feel quite a bit. But they were jeans. And so all the sensations she really  _ wanted  _ to feel preferably directly on the head of her clit  _ she couldn’t. _

She groaned in frustration and rolled off of him and the bed to kick her trainers off, hop around for a moment, trying to get her socks off (they never came off easily when she wanted them to), and then rip her jeans off as quickly as possible, panties to follow. She slid back on top of him with more grace than she had when it had been ninety-seven days rather than sixteen.

His hands were on her hips, then her waist, and moving higher, but taking his time, savoring her even as she returned the favor and breathed deeply into the heat of his touch, the feel of his skin. 

Viktor held off his orgasm as she writhed on top of him, her hips grinding against his, the fabric of his trousers a pleasant sensation, but not quite as good as the texture of his skin. 

“Hmm,” she murmured. “I wonder what it will be like to ride you like this. Do you get sick of me wondering what your cock will feel like? Because I don’t get sick of thinking of it.”

His laugh was a huff of air and his grip tightened on her hips, through her jeans. “Is not possible,” he said softly, panting. “Not with how much I am thinking about it.”

“Tell me,” she begged.

“Mm. I really want you to suck my cock, Myon. Is not something I always mention. I do not want you think…  _ ah, hah. Ah, _ that I should always be in dominant position.”

Hermione snorted somewhat indelicately. “With the amount of time you spend eating me out? It’s not a concern I have, Viktor. Tell me about your fantasies. Be explicit,” she said, rolling her hips.

He groaned and grinned. “So many. Every day a new twist. Ungh, Myon, I have a thousand fantasies of you sucking my cock.”

She grinned back and continued to rock on him. “Pick one. Tell me about it.”

He grunted, pulled her down, held her securely, and then rolled them both on the bed. Then he shifted a bit off to her side, kissed her thoroughly and held her close while one bicep pillowed her head and one hand rubbed the outside of her pussy as a prelude to more significant stimulation.

“Now I can think,” he said, his hips nestled up against her side, but with much less grinding and wiggling involved. “And this time, in this fantasy, you go slowly. No racing to the finish. You touch my thighs with your hands, your face, your lips, and I can feel your breath on me, cool at first from your nose and then hot from your mouth. And then your breath is everywhere, making me shiver. I think, yes, for this fantasy my hands are tied to your bed. Mm, gently tied, of course. I will not make the same mistake twice. And I can writhe and strain, but you are taking your time and it is so good, Myon. And then come the kisses. Tiny kisses. The pressure of your lips with your breath, the tickle of the tips of your hair. And then your fingertips. You write little messages of love with your fingertips in French on my skin while I slowly go mad with pleasure. My cock weeps for wanting the heat and warmth of your mouth. The one time you took me in your mouth, Myon, God it was good. It was so good. 

“There is nothing I do not wish to try with you, at least once. Mm, but if you will consent to it I would have you drink me down so often, my beautiful Myon.”

“I’m not sure about the deep throating thing,” she gasped, “but I don’t think sucking your cock regularly is going to be such a problem for me. We’ll see about swallowing regularly. Kind of depends on the taste, and if I can get used to it.”

She watched him grin. “Any part of this you enjoy, I will be thrilled for. Any part of this you do not enjoy, I do not wish to happen. You understand this clearly, yes? You will not be stoic and pretend? This will not be like losing sleep to sleep naked?”

She rolled her eyes. “I promise, now get back to the sexy fantasy, would you?” she asked, pulling him in for a kiss and shivering as his finger dipped deeply inside of her as his tongue sought hers. Sixteen days to go and they were playing a lot looser with the tacit no-penetration-at-all rule, especially when it was her being penetrated farther away from orgasm. With him and his ability to orgasm almost on command, it was still more of a hard rule. Mostly. A bit.

“Mm, where was I?”

“Fingertips. French. Weeping cock.”

He groaned and flexed his hip against her just once, the fingers of his very talented and dominant left hand flexing and curling inside of her as his thumb played on the head of her clit. “Ah, yes. So finally do you consent to lick me and you do so in tiny ways. Tiny licks. The tip of your tongue, and then you surprise me and use your whole tongue in one broad swipe up from the bottom of my cock to the top, and then suck the head in, swirling your tongue as you can, and in this fantasy, that is where I come because you have teased me so mercilessly. When you do finally have mercy and suck me, I obey. I come instantly for you, crying your name.”

“Thank you,” Hermione said while grinning, and while she hadn’t meant it to happen in quite that way, it came out in a rather self-satisfied tone.

Viktor shifted and with his arm still acting as pillow, his head was now at breast-level. “Tell me when you’re close,” he murmured against her breast before sucking a nipple into his mouth even as his fingers were still buried deeply inside her.

Hermione’s hand came up to caress the back of his head. She groaned his name and gave herself entirely over to the feeling and almost forgot to tell him when she was close. Happily, she was also used to being quite loud with him at this point and so it became increasingly obvious as she neared orgasm that he should remove all body parts from inside other body parts. His fingers danced over her clit and his tongue lapped at the bottom of one of her breasts and she came, chanting his name.

_ “Fuck, Myon, you’re so fucking beautiful,”  _ he whispered harshly against her lips as he shuddered against her, only moments after she had come down from her own high.  _ “Oh, God, I can’t stand it sometimes.”  _

She reached and pulled him almost but not entirely on top of her. “I love you,” she whispered in his ear. “And I’m yours, Viktor.”

He had one leg on each side of one of hers, still fully clothed while she had managed to get entirely naked. He rode out the rest, or perhaps the entirety, of his orgasm thrusting against her thigh and chanting the word  _ fuck. _

Hermione smiled, thinking of the fact that now that he had  _ just  _ come, if she was quick about it, she might be able to suck his cock until he was hard again.

* * *

_ December 16, 199_  
_ _ Hogwarts Castle _

_ Dear Narcissa, _

_ I hope you won’t mind that I’ve invited Draco alone to a quidditch match. He and Luna don’t get nearly enough time together for my liking, and so I invited the two of them. But it does make me think that though we are so busy and have not had time to get to know each other as well as I would have liked by now, I hope that we can make time for this in the new year. _

_ You have been working incredibly hard on my behalf, and I’m so grateful. Bellatrix may have taken away a number of things, but you have given me more than what was lost. _

_ If it’s not too much to ask, will you share with me something beautiful about growing up in the House of Black? I won’t mind if it includes Bellatrix. It would be nice, for my part, to know that she was not always the woman she became. _

_ Thank you for your help with the founders and their portrait. While the evening did not go quite as I had imagined, it was helpful nonetheless to know they were not always the querulous and resentful group they later became. And of course Saucepot has bonded with Basil, and I find myself relieved that there exists no portrait of Nagini because frankly I’m not quite prepared to forgive that snake, however she might have been earlier in life. (A smaller, less bloodthirsty snake, perhaps? One can hope.) Though Ginny assures me that Tom earlier in life, and at least in his seventh year, while blessedly nose-having and quite charming at times, was always a murderous sociopath. But most of us, it seems, are a product of our choices. And I, for one, am grateful for the ones you have made. _

_ Love,  
_ _ Hermione _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) Hope you're still enjoying the story.


	38. Chapter 32, part 2: Wherein compassion is accidentally built.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The chapter continues and finishes.

_ December 16, 199_  
_ _ Buckingham Palace _

_ My dear MI6, _

_ I do appreciate your sense of humor in the various ways it emerges. _

_ So. Mr. Lewis had inspiration that was shockingly exact. Interesting. Divine inspiration, perhaps? Most of the rest of the story seemed to be well enough, for a certain admittedly popular theology of salvation. Perhaps he was somehow a very distant relation of yours, my dear. It’s possible that he heard the name somewhere, possibly in his childhood. Interesting, interesting. _

_ I am sorry to hear that the reversal of the dark magic required further dark magic and that it took its toll in your blood and in Viktor’s shame. He is a good man and he did not deserve that. And yet he proved his worth in not allowing you to endure it alone when he could be of material aid. The shame might have been yours, and he took it for you, into his body and into his heart. Never forget that, Hermione, and never dishonor it. _

_ So, your ancestors were idiots. I do understand. _

_ Thank you for telling me of your physical scars. I understand that the emotional ones are even more troublesome. _

_ I look forward to seeing the portrait of Maria III, even in the early Anglo-Saxon style of art even, as you say, dead. But I do understand, if one is quite used to portraits living a sort of life of their own that non-magical portraits might be neither here nor there, but a once-living and now-dead portrait would be a bit like having an embalmed body in the house, on display. Wrapped in linen and respectfully enclosed in a highly ornate and ancient sarcophagus is one thing. Just there, lingering, and dead and staring at you is another. I shouldn’t think I’d like it hanging about, either. _

_ I am glad you (hypothetically) used the opportunity given you and built compassion rather than rage. One might learn (hypothetically) a lesson from the teensie, adorable snake that turned into the fifty-foot maneater. It is not just a basilisk. It is power. This is what power does to us, Hermione. If we are willing to hurt and maim and kill in small secret ways, power amplifies it for us and soon we are hurting and maiming and killing in large, overt ways because we can. Act with responsibility and compassion in the smallest of ways that seem not to count, and when no one can see and report on your behavior, good or bad. That is the surest balm against the abuse of power.  _

_ I am afraid that is what it is like, to speak with people who have no similar frame of reference. They believe they speak with the same authority and clarity and wisdom that you do, and perhaps, in a way, they do, but sometimes, and perhaps even often, their ignorance and selfishness is more or less apparent from word one. They speak with certainty on subjects they cannot fathom. They are morons, and rarely are we allowed to inform them of the fact. And the horrible rub is that we wouldn’t wish our own trying situations on them so that they, too, can suffer, and yet without experiencing some suffering of some sort and the attendant ability to generalize that to other people and other situations, how can we relate to anyone at all? And yet, innocence in others is something to be treasured, even though it can bring us great pain when they clutch at our woundedness as they attempt to help us across a street we could manage by ourselves. _

_ Helga continues to be my favorite of the founders, though Maria is clearly a close second, and one who took her responsibility to the uttermost, and when she was finished and could do no more, retired from the field. _

_ Thank you for the details concerning Draco. I continue to trust your judgment, and I look forward to seeing how he continues on. Do tell me how his wine is, once you have tried some. _

_ No one is looking forward to retiring to Sandringham more than I am. Usually it’s Philip. This year, I’m certain I outpace his impatience by miles. _

_ Your friend,  
_ _ Elizabeth _

_ PS - Do take a holiday break from the regular letters, my dear, but check your box should I have any last minute questions, and I shall do the same in case you do, or if you need to send on messages from your MC. _

* * *

_ December 17, 199_  
_ _ Malfoy Manor _

_ My dear Hermione, _

_ I will support any action that may help convince my son where his happiness clearly lies. Thank you for helping in this matter. I have been heartened, lo these many months, to see what brightness your growing sororal relationship with him has brought. Truly it was beyond the bounds of my farthest hope that you could be a steadying influence on him, and yet you have given him such comfort and friendship that I am quite at a loss. And now, he tells me, that you will have Her Majesty confer upon him a lifetime duchy. I am humbled by your generosity, dear Hermione. Thank you. _

_ It is my pleasure to be of service to you, now and in the future, and you honor me greatly by allowing me to take so public a role, and I am grateful for it. _

_ The incident of the portrait in the night was a curious one, indeed, and I would not mind discussing it further with you when we are at leisure to do so. I take it you will keep that portrait with you after all? At least for dear Saucepot’s sake, I urge you to consider it. You know he hasn’t many friends with whom he can speak. Which brings me to Nagini. I do not know the whole of the story, but I do know she was human, once. Tom would boast of it in the early years, though less so in his later reign when he was, in general, more guarded in his speech, how he kept a blood-cursed witch as a pet, how she adored him because he was the only one who understood her. I don’t know how much of that was true and how much was his own rather selfish perspective, but among other things I gleaned over the years by listening very closely it’s possible that she was nearly or beyond a hundred years old when she died, originally from Malaysia, and once a companion of Grindelwald, though if that’s true she must have abandoned his camp in enough time to escape prosecution. I think it fit his image of himself that a companion of the Dark Wizard Grindelwald who was so close to dominating all of Europe and possibly from there the rest of the world, had a companion who abandoned him, but chose Tom instead. There were other things he said about the snake that were even less credible than these things and I am loathe to share them all unless you do want to hear it, but if it could ever help I would tell you all I’ve heard. _

_ Shall I tell you about my coming out ball? It was held at the Grimmauld Place Townhouse, and all the best families were there, or so I thought at the time. Bella was already engaged and Andy was as well, though she would cry off a few months later and elope with her present husband nearly a year afterwards.  _

_ My dress was a shimmering white that had iridescent butterflies that would land and fade into stitchwork and then rise again as butterflies and flit about before landing again in a different place, but still a part of the pattern. It was a beautiful piece of charms work. _

_ At first they had hoped I would marry Regulus - the Black family having a habit of marrying first cousins to each other - but my mother was against it, and though I liked him well enough I was happy, in a way, to escape the House of Black, though of course in the end I have done no such thing. And if I knew then what I do now, I should have probably married one of my other suitors, though of course that is no guarantee to happiness and we must always, I think, seize the opportunities offered to us. _

_ Still, Lucius seemed like a fair prospect, and for a long while there was genuine affection between us. _

_ I am so glad, my dear, that you have given your hand and your heart to a man who cherishes your love above all other things, as he very obviously does. It is a profound gift in which not everyone is able to partake. But I digress. Forgive me. _

_ The ball was a spectacular event, held in the summer after my sixth year. As the youngest child of all the cousins, everyone who was still in the family was present. I danced every dance and a dozen young men applied to my father the next day to have permission to court me. For a brief two months I dated twelve men at once. It was thrilling, though I am ashamed to compare the adventures I had at sixteen to the ones you have had at the same age. By the time I was ready to sit my final year I had narrowed the field down to four, three of whom would return to school with me and thus have an advantage. My lingering regret there was the fourth - I think if he had been given an equal opportunity we might all be in a very different place, now, for his family was staunchly though quietly against Tom’s rise both times, and he himself went and took orders later on. And he was in the lead, in my estimation, before I took the train back to school, where Lucius had more of my time and attention, and so rose out of second place to secure my hand by Christmas. Ah, well. What would I do, as a vicar’s wife? Likely as not they would have disowned me as well, and then the House of Black would have died with Bella. _

_ How easily I become maudlin. Forgive me. _

_ Perhaps the brightest, happiest time of my young life was that summer. Bella was still mostly sane and had a wonderful sense of humor. Andy was not yet jaded and cynical, but still open and loving and remarkably wise for one so young, or so I thought. I missed Sirius’ lack of conformity, but that was a small thing to being the belle of the ball day after day and having so many fine and beautiful and interesting young men trying to win my heart. It was a lovely summer and I had decided long ago to have no regrets concerning it, and while I am not entirely successful in that, I regret very little of that summer. It was glorious and I felt alive. _

_ Thank you for asking, Hermione. It was lovely to remember that time. When all the falderal is complete, let us take some time to get to know one another. But we needn’t worry about it now. That time will come soon enough. _

_ Fondly,  
_ _ Narcissa _

* * *

“To Ginny! She has organized my wedding, my wardrobe, and all of the souvenirs for the coronation, all while maintaining top marks and actively participating in her own marriage!”

Everyone toasted Ginny and drank, who sat back and grinned, stroking Saucepot who was half on her lap, and half on Harry’s.

“When you put it like that, it does sound impressive, but you should see what my mother gets done in a day,” she said, shrugging a little.

“We can never be our mothers,” said Luna, who had lost hers latest of those who had. “Or our fathers, really. We’ll be both better than them, and worse, in our own ways. Similar in somethings, dissimilar in others.”

“Yes,” Ginny said on a sigh. “There are certainly traits of my mother I have no wish to carry through to the next generation. And other things about her and Dad that I really wish were easier for me, because I admire them so much.”

“Yeah, I’ve certainly learned about the darker side of my parents over the years,” Harry said quietly.

“My parents set a high bar,” Hermione quietly added. “We’re quite different people, even magic aside. But I think that all of my finest qualities as well as my annoying traits, well, I think I come by them honestly.”

“Even the tendency to break rules in a manner no one can trace back to you?” Harry asked, dubious. Neville snorted and Luna giggled.

Hermione grinned. “Mum was a rabble-rouser. But I think the not-getting-caught part comes from Dad who rarely broke the rules, but when he did, covered his tracks very well indeed.”

Viktor leaned over and kissed the side of her head. “I consider myself forewarned,” he murmured.

“Yeah,” Neville offered. “I don’t have a single hope of ever living up to my Gran. Or my parents, for that matter.” His tone was lighthearted, but his words certainly weren’t. “I mean, my parents are permanently stuck as twenty-year-old war heroes. And no good traits and no bad traits are even remembered. Just their heroism and their sacrifice. And despite the fact that Gran has already said she’ll name me her heir when I graduate, thus skipping a generation, nothing I’ve done and nothing I can do will ever match their heroism or their sacrifice.”

Into the stunned silence, Luna spoke softly. 

“Neville, you saved my life last year. You saved the lives of two hundred and thirty-four other people as well. You kept twelve and thirteen year olds from being tortured. You organized their education and their lives for many months. If it weren’t a time of war, you would hold two hundred and thirty-five life debts, including my own. I mean, sure, you chopped Nagini’s head off with the Sword of Gryffindor, but that’s not why you’re being knighted. You’re being knighted because of your outstanding heroism. And your sacrifice wasn’t your sanity, the involuntary sacrifice your parents made. Yours was arguably larger, though some may disagree. You sacrificed your innocence, and you gave it willingly in order to save the innocence and lives of others. You have already surpassed your parents, Neville. You’ve stood on their shoulders and reached even greater heights.”

Neville, ever ready with a handkerchief, quietly wept into it as Luna came over and sat on the arm of his chair. She pulled him closer to her and when he laid his head on her lap, still crying, she stroked the back of his head.

Hermione couldn’t help quietly weeping as well. Viktor’s arm tightened around her.

When Harry spoke, it was in between sniffles of his own. “Godric says he’s proud of you. Saucepot’s been providing them with a running commentary of our conversation. He says he couldn’t be more proud of you if you’d been his own son. Rowena and the rest agree that if you ever decide you’d like to be the Headmaster of Hogwarts they would support you. You’ve embodied the care for the children, which is the only thing that matters to them. You know, at this point.”

“Headmaster Snape,” Hermione quietly began, “had instructed the elves to help you, but never be seen. Provide food, text books, supplies. He also told them to answer any children’s cries for help.”

Neville looked up with red-rimmed eyes. “I wondered how some of them got to the Room of Requirement.”

Hermione nodded. “He also gave them tacit permission to ignore or hinder the new so-called teachers because he never gave them contracts with the Board, and so the elves weren’t bound to answer to them,” she said, a grim smile on her face. “And you know who the Head Elf was, then, and so you can imagine her response, I’m sure.”

Neville snorffled and laughed through his tears. “Oh, Grims versus the Carrows! I’d have paid to see her take them down.”

Hermione grinned. “That would have violated the agreement of the Four, but we all know what subtly she’s capable of when she’s annoyed with humans.”

“I’m sorry, Hermione, but I like her a little now. Not enough to want her in your service, but a little bit.” Neville was sitting upright now, but Luna’s hand was still on his back, rubbing gently.

“So do I.” Hermione lifted her glass. “To Grims, and all the elves of Hogwarts, for keeping the children safe.”

The toast was to Grims, and all toasted her, knowing she could hear, wherever she was.

* * *

_ December 18, 199_  
_ _ Hogwarts Castle _

_ My dearest Viktor, _

_ I hope your exhibition game against the Bristol Billiwigs went well. Despite the fact that I will have attended the match, I may or may not have brought out a book, or made myself scarce as, quite honestly, this entire thing was a match-making effort and I’ll have wanted to give them as much time to themselves as I could possibly conceive. Who knows? Perhaps I will have gone and introduced myself to the intimidating fashion plates and attempted to make conversation across the box. _

_ Or not. Best not set myself up for failure, there. Perhaps I will have just enjoyed the opportunity to openly stare at you in public and quietly fantasize about quite possibly having sex on your broom after all. _

_ I do waffle about this, you know. Sometimes it seems like a smashing idea. Other times I wonder if I have lost my mind. _

_ I do recognize that whatever happened last weekend could certainly qualify, but Viktor, it was terrifying, and in the end the terror was not wholly cancelled out by the orgasms involved. I was glad to do it once. A second time of that particular fantasy may need to wait quite a while until I am much more comfortable going at speed on a broom. So please, don’t feel bad about it. Just don’t expect a repeat any time soon. _

_ Apropos of sex, it’s thirteen days. I know you know, but I had to just say it. We’re under two weeks away now and I think it must have to slack off once we actually get married and have sex a few times because, Viktor, I can’t actually imagine wanting you more than I want you now. I’m fairly certain we’ve hit peak desire because if there’s more than this I’ll just drown in it. _

_ But then I think about mixing the roses, and think, well, there’s always a bit more I could want you, but when does it stop? Or plateau? I laugh to think that I was worried this passion would not last for a hundred years, and whether or not it will I can’t say, but I also think that it could fall a bit and still be perfectly acceptable. My desire could die off a bit and I’d still be quite interested in a regular, healthy sex life with you, I just wouldn’t be so bloody obsessed with thoughts of your cock. _

_ It’s ridiculous, Viktor, how much I think of your cock. And how often I want your tongue in my pussy. I know, I know, to make a thing taboo is to make it more desirable. I just had no idea of the degrees involved. _

_ Mmm, Viktor. I’ll be studying at Cair Paravel. Which isn’t to say I wouldn’t love to have a letter back from you. And do remember the elves are finishing the wall install today, and so the Roman Bath is sadly off limits until they do. But of course that doesn’t mean we couldn’t christen several flat surfaces in the third floor study. I hope you’ll consider it as an option after you get something to eat. And of course, if you need some time alone to sort yourself out, the flat surfaces can wait, my love. _

_ But you know, happy or sad, elated or enraged, I love you. And even when you’re mad at me and I have the strong urge to kick you in the shins (I am violent, aren’t I? But I wouldn’t  _ _ actually _ _ kick you in the shins, and I think that is the salient point. It’s just an urge, and I squash it fairly well.) I still don’t want to be with anyone else. _

_ All my love, forever,  
_ _ Hermione _

* * *

_ December 18, 199_  
_ _ Cair Paravel _

_ Dear Narcissa, _

_ Thank you for such a lovely letter.  _

_ I love thinking of you with twelve suitors. Of course you had twelve suitors. You are a stunningly beautiful woman now, and I daresay at sixteen while you might not have radiated the power and confidence you have now, I’m sure you were poised and with the first blush of youth, really, it’s a wonder there were only twelve. Perhaps your father secretly put a cap on the number, lest you become overwhelmed. That is what I shall believe. _

_ I wonder who that fourth suitor must have been, only I know a wizard who is a priest and I wonder how many of them there can really be? He passes as a muggle, at least in his parish he does, and he’ll be our guest over the new year, and bless our marriage. It’s possible he’s in the right age range, but I’m dreadful at guessing the ages of magical people. I don’t suppose the Rev. Michael Fielding rings a bell? I didn’t see a wedding ring, by the way, nor any photos in his office of spouse or children. Not that it is him, and not that you’re interested, but just in case you were curious to catch up with an old friend. _

_ I look forward to spending time with you moreso as you say, when the falderal is through. It may be terribly selfish of me, but I am looking forward more to the wedding, and seeing some favorite actors perform Shakespeare than the coronation. I think often of the first two. I try not to think of the third, lest I become a nervous wreck. _

_ Draco is making it easy to be friends with him. And while I may never have thought to say such a thing, it is true, and I am glad for it. Unless it is all quite an elaborate ruse, I am confident that our friendship is honest, and given the level of vulnerability we’ve had with each other, I doubt it is a ruse. I may be a Gryffindor, but that doesn’t mean I can’t lie convincingly when I need to, and recognize when others are lying to me. _

_ I likely will keep the founders’ portrait with me, though it’s possible I might loan it out to Harry for Saucepot’s sake. I find it unlikely, now, however, that it will end up in the vault. Their innocence is too precious, and likely they’ll help me to drill Latin when I get around to it. _

_ I’m rather torn, on finding out more about Nagini. She was a witch once? Truly? And then she was stuck as a snake for God knows how long? And it wasn’t some sort of animagus accident? I wonder how dark she was before her permanent transformation, or if the transformation itself, turning into a wholly carnivorous apex predator was really all it took to feel comfortable eating humans. Lord, I’m not even sure if we grow our own farm animals I’ll be able to eat them. I have a feeling my intellectual curiosity will eventually beg for more details, but I think I’ll put it off for as long as possible. But of course Tom would brag about it. What an utter git. Having a witch as a pet? Misogynistic arse. Women aren’t pets, even if we are stuck in some animal form. Valued companion, perhaps. Pet, no. Not that I’m sure Nagini would have appreciated my solidarity with her position. In fact I’m sure she wouldn’t have, or else she would have eaten Tom the first time he called her his pet when obviously he was her head of staff. Or at least she would have bitten something useful clean off. _

_ Dreadful man. Dreadful, noseless, misogynistic git of a man. (Is it petty, perhaps, to continue to mention his lack of nose? Possibly. Will I continue to lower myself to do it? Absolutely.) _

_ Now, I must tell you about the exhibition game I’ve only just returned from. It was at The Canopy, which is the Billiwig’s home stadium in Bristol. I do sometimes think it is a shame that we go directly to and from the stadium with nary a look around in the magical and non-magical communities in which they are set. It wasn’t until Viktor moved to Ely that I realized there were wizarding quarters in other cities in Britain besides London. Of course, Ely’s quarter is not as large as London’s, but at some point I mean to tour them all. I mean, I suppose I have an excuse as monarch, but I would have liked to have done it, regardless. And then of course there are those shops that are in the muggle sections, and the wizarding proprietors serve both populations. My new favorite cobbler is like that. Oh, Narcissa, you would love my new heels. Dragonhide, featherlight soles, and three-inch perfectly matched dragontooth heels. Granted, the hide and teeth came out of the Pendragon Horde, but still. He also made us little clutches. So wonderful. I’ve only had time to charm one of mine, the one I’ll take for the Yule Ball, but it’s just so delightful. Ginny, as head of my wardrobe, was very proud of this addition to my collection. I was very happy to have comfortable, stylish heels that can kill a horcrux if necessary. (Do you have any idea how difficult it is to kill a horcrux?) Oh, dear, I’ve strayed far from my report of the lovers at the quidditch match. _

_ Well, The Canopy is beautiful, and while Ginny worked diligently to get my hair just so, Luna resisted all of our efforts to oversee her outfit or even have veto power, but when she walked into our suite she looked wonderful. She was wearing her new heels (a belated birthday present from me, and they’re Short Snout, so you know they look amazing with her coloring), with the attendant bag, which apparently Ginny charmed for her as a belated birthday present as well. The jeans fit her well, and over it she wore a soft-looking sweater that reminded Ginny of angora, though of course neither one of us had a chance to ask. It had a cowl-neck and the whole ensemble looked quite good on her. She was not, as she sometimes does, wearing small root vegetables as earrings, (it’s part of her charm, and as one who was once on the brink of starvation, I can now see a level of practicality in her actions that I couldn’t, before) but she had the most lovely moonstone ear drops.  _

_ I couldn’t quite tell if Draco was impressed or not, but I thought she cleaned up very well, and she didn’t need anyone to help her do it, either. But she did look lovely, Narcissa. And of course Draco was looking handsome and collected. I did my best to leave them to themselves as much as possible. I know I was obvious about it, but still, one can only go fetching and carrying so much before one just stands in the back of the box (the heels were so comfortable!) and sucks it up when an ambassador from the Fashion Plates Quidditch Wives & Girlfriends Consortium makes her way to you and after some pleasantries that are neither here nor there, attempts to indoctrinate you via guilt into ‘dressing up for your man’.  _

_ “And what does Mr. Kaminski do, when he attends?” I asked, knowing that the star keeper was married to a man. There were other women on the second string, but I couldn’t remember who they were, and I don’t think the second string players get as many family box tickets. _

_ She waved it off like it didn’t matter because he was a man, which is a double standard she didn’t seem to notice. So bizarre. It also underscores women’s position as decorative, which I loathe. Beautiful women are not decorative. Plain women are not worthless. _

_ “Well, I’m with Mr. Kaminski, then,” I said. _

_ She blustered and continued her case on wearing my best dress and my finest jewelry. And I thought for a moment that as it happens, the finest jewelry I have are the pieces Viktor gave me when we were courting, which I happen to prefer wearing everywhere, and was wearing earlier for the conversation. But then I thought of Morgana’s Torc and Henry’s crown, and the Pendragon Horde, which Narcissa, we will have to go through at some point. I have a diamond tiara. Among other things. _

_ I’ve never been particularly good at putting pretty girls in their place when they insult me, Narcissa, but this was a moment for the record. “Well,” I said slowly, as if I were truly considering her point. “I agree that it’s a good thing to make an effort to look lovely for the person you love, and I like to think in my own small way I do this,” I said, knowing the last time Ginny and I made this effort Viktor nearly fell off his broom and was teased mercilessly in the locker room afterwards - this was the game you and I and Draco attended together. He told me to warn him next time, and I did this time, and I’m happy to report he was much more focused on the game today. But then I continued. “But you know, I’m absolutely certain that Elizabeth would look askance at me if she ever found out I wore Henry V’s crown to a quidditch match and I’m certain my advisors would ask if I’d lost my mind to wear Morgana’s Torc just to impress someone, and I’ll grant you the diamond tiara is more manageable, it still seems like overkill. But honestly, my finery simply isn’t complete without Excalibur and you know they have rules banning blades longer than four inches, so that simply isn’t an option.” I sighed, as if I were truly put upon. I shrugged. She looked annoyed. I decided to add insult to injury. “I do believe jeans are the better part of valor for me. No point in constantly reminding everyone,” and then I looked at her very clearly in the eye, “that I am your Queen.” And then very softly I added, and I will say my tone was perhaps just a shade menacing. “Unless, of course, they need a reminder.” _

_ It’s possible she turned green. She did curtsey before she ran away. Well, as Elizabeth might say, though never at the time, some people are just morons. I like to think that I do take constructive criticism but I will own, Narcissa, I largely prefer it to be a) requested, or b) from someone I trust, or c) obviously the product of divine intervention. _

_ So it goes. After that I was left alone to observe Draco and Luna, and occasionally Viktor, and I will say they did talk a good deal throughout the game, which I felt was a good sign. Luna’s commentary is always quite amusing as you might imagine and with the number of Quidditch games at Hogwarts I’ve skipped this year, I’ve really missed her commentary - she rotates with three other students. I’ve got to find out when she’s scheduled and make sure to catch a game or two before graduation. I’ll let you know when they are, in case you want to make a trip in for it. I highly recommend witnessing it at least once, Narcissa. She really is priceless and I can’t imagine when she’ll be able to do it after graduation. _

_ When Viktor caught the snitch I came back to the front of the box and cheered with the rest of them and blew him a kiss on his victory lap and Draco and Luna were very good at pretending I hadn’t left them alone for the better part of two hours to have whatever conversation they deemed necessary. Luna didn’t confide much but it’s clear she remains hopeful. I couldn’t read Draco at all, but then I’m not at all practiced in reading his finer emotions. I hope to get an informative letter from him in the next day or so and we’ll see where were are, then. _

_ Love,   
_ _ Hermione _

* * *

_ December 18, 199_  
_ _ The Cross Hotel, Ely _

_ My beautiful maenad, _

_ Thank you for warning me this morning. You were radiant, but forewarned is forearmed and I think I focused very well indeed, despite the blatant staring and obvious appreciation of the most beautiful woman in the world. _

_ I have duly ordered lunch and expect to inhale it at a very unbecoming pace directly after I finish this letter and run it down to the desk to be mailed to you. As we have won and I am feeling quite good, you may expect me shortly after you read this letter. _

_ Should I tell you more? Lunch has yet to be delivered. I certainly have time. But it is likely to leave me hot and hard for you, and yearning so deeply to eat at a different sort of feast to sate an altogether different appetite. _

_ And then what should I do? Bring myself momentary relief that always feels so hollow when you are not there to share in it? Even if I cannot orgasm inside of you, orgasming near you with your name on my lips and your taste on my tongue is much preferred. _

_ I cannot know what married life will be like, for us. But I think it increasingly likely that our desires will not slow any time soon. And for myself, I do not worry so much that you cannot stop thinking of me. It has been this way for me, with you, for many years now and I have just accepted this as normal. Mm, I do not mean to diminish your concerns in this matter. But I am, perhaps, quite selfishly pleased to know you want me as much as I want you. It brings me deep pleasure to know you crave my face between your thighs just as I crave your ambrosia on my tongue, and believe me, Hermione. This will not stop simply because we will allow ourselves penetrative orgasms. My cravings to eat at your banquet will not suddenly disappear when I can finally, finally fuck you with my cock in every position I have ever imagined. _

_ And I look forward to doing both, some today, some in thirteen days. _

_ Here I will end so I may hand off this letter as lunch is delivered, and so save myself a trip down to the reception desk sporting a rather discernible hard-on. _

_ Soon,  
_ _ Viktor _

_ PS - I adore you. I love you so, Hermione and I don’t tell you nearly enough. _

* * *

Hermione was determined not to feel awkward about this. Her determination almost left her when she walked through the floo after Viktor. He cleaned her off and offered her his arm in the same motion and she looped her left arm through his. Interestingly, he usually defaulted to being on her left, with her on his right and it was only lately that she realized it kept both of their wand hands free.

Viktor briefly introduced her to the assistant manager of the team who was overseeing the process and Viktor led her to the area that was already set up for him, with a chair for her a little ways off. He bowed and left her there and the assistant manager hovered awkwardly. Hermione realized it was actually her responsibility to say something, regardless of the fact that they were in Inferi Hell and she was, technically, a guest.

“Please don’t feel you must entertain me, Madam Jones. I’ve got some reading I simply must do, and I know you must be very busy.”

“Are you sure I can’t get you anything, Your Majesty? A cup of tea?”

Hermione smiled pleasantly and wondered what Elizabeth would do in this situation. Possibly she wouldn’t be wearing jeans. Possibly she wouldn’t have simply put Excalibur in her scabbard, strapped it to her waist and called it fair. Possibly she would have just handed the Sword of Legend over to her husband for his photo shoot and stayed at home to read for an extra hour.

As Hermione had done none of these things, she politely declined the offer, carefully sat down (there would be no curling up with a Roman-style short sword strapped to her waist) and pulled her latest book out of the plain muslin belt pouch she had charmed as a practice piece to work on the new set of spells she wanted as standard. She’d made it before the birthday presents for her little Hufflepuff friends, but she hadn’t had much of a chance since to return to the project. She had been thinking, though, that perhaps she ought to get a belt pouch that actually  _ matched her belt  _ as Excalibur’s scabbard did.

Hermione was thoroughly engrossed in her book when she heard Viktor’s voice quite close indeed.

“Hermione, it is time.”

She blinked rapidly and pulled herself out of the blood magic rituals of the ancient Egyptians. She marked her page and put her book away entirely and glanced up to see a single eyebrow raised.

Well, as far as she was concerned, his photoshoots were officially a spectator sport and she had front row seats this time. Not that she was at liberty to say such a thing. There was a photographer and various assistants all about. Instead she smiled pleasantly and held out her hand. She could get up by herself, but Hermione would take any valid excuse to touch him in public.

Upright and standing, she took another step in. “Remember your promise,” she murmured to him, referring to their agreement that at least for this round of photos he would not scowl. They reasoned that there would be detractors of them both who would conveniently forget that he’d  _ always  _ scowled in his photos, and cite it as a brand new trend, and evidence that he was in an unhappy relationship. And people would listen to such lies. People always listened when lies were being told.

He smirked. “I remember, Myon.” He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it slowly before releasing it.

Hermione pulled Excalibur from her sheath, took it in both hands and offered it to Viktor. “It’s been sharpened,” she said in warning.

He took the sword reverently in both hands, one at the handle and one flat underneath the blade and bowed as he did so. “Thank you, my love.” He carried it back and assistants and stylists buzzed around him while the photographer barked orders. For one half hour various photographs were taken and while his clothes all stayed firmly on, it was quite fun to watch. Mostly it was fun for Hermione to be in a situation where it was socially acceptable to just stare at Viktor.

There was a bit of a to do when the photographer was done with the sword as a prop and had, apparently, forgotten which sword it was, and so instructed an assistant to take it away from Viktor who suddenly became quite animated. There was yelling. Hermione hid a smile. She knew the sword was safe in Viktor’s hands and she also knew that this was exactly why she’d come - there would be times when Viktor was not able to hold the sword - while changing, when the photos did not require it - and during those times Hermione would allow no one else to touch it, either.

Viktor stormed over to her with fire in his eyes and again Hermione tried to tamp down the mirth in her own. She stood to receive the sword, and only partially because she couldn’t put it back in its sheath while sitting, and as she stood, Viktor bowed, his arms held out with the sword between their bodies. His jaw was tense when she looked back up, sword safely stowed.

“Thank you for your diligence,” she murmured.

Viktor was clearly censoring his reply but the snort came out anyway.

Hermione noticed out of the corner of her eye the assistant manager arguing quietly but with significant hand gestures with the photographer whom Hermione had already gathered was a bit of a diva. And then the photographer approached. And apologised for treating Her Majesty’s sword with disrespect. It was very like a genuine apology, lacking only the proper sentiment to be complete, but Hermione didn’t care. She graciously accepted it, squeezed Viktor’s hand, and sat back down for the second half of the photo shoot.

And finally, an hour and ten minutes into the shoot,  _ finally,  _ he took his shirts off, his jersey and his base layer. They perched his goggles on his head, very carefully arranged his hair to look just windswept enough and took a fascinating series of photographs. Arms crossed over his chest. Hands on hips. Holding a snitch out toward the camera. Holding a broom over his shoulders.

And then they were done, Hermione was wet, and they were already late for their next appointment and what was proving to be already quite a long day.

As Viktor went to go get changed, Hermione sent a patronus ahead to Ginny who was waiting at Cair Paravel with a photographer. That done, she pulled her book back out and tried not to think of how utterly beautiful her man was, and instead tried in vain to reimmerse herself into the world of ancient Egyptian magic, some of which was apparently profoundly dark. But given her own ancestors, that was hardly surprising.

* * *

_ Two days before the Winter Solstice,  
_ _ in the first year of your reign  
_ _ in Ravenclaw Tower _

_ Your Majesty, _

_ Thank you so much for the opportunity to join you and Draco for the delightful exhibition game at The Canopy. I appreciated the opportunity to remove myself to more southern climes in the dead of winter and of course it was wonderful to be able to spend time with Draco. You were very kind to give us so much space, and I do appreciate it. _

_ My wooing continues apace! _

_ Thanks and peace,  
_ _ Luna _

* * *

_ December 19, 199_  
_ _ Malfoy Manor _

_ Dear sister, _

_ Do you simply take delight in torturing me? Is this what passes for subtly amongst lions? You know I haven’t the slightest idea what I should do about Miss Lovegood’s proposal and being in the same room with her certainly does not help. How dare you utterly abandon us? _

_ Yes, she’s a perfectly fine conversational partner. Yes, she has matured into a lovely woman. Yes, I find her amusing. Yes, she keeps me on my toes, intellectually. Yes, I am attracted to her. No, this is not helping. _

_ My, God, Granger, I’m in crisis here and you’re flinging suitors at me and running away. I cry foul! _

_ You looked lovely today, by the way. I noticed one of the harpies going to speak with you. I hope you gave her a right set down. I take it you won’t need wine and cheese this week, as you’ll be vacating by Wednesday night, Luna says? I hope so, as we’re arriving Thursday and I’d rather hoped you’d get the desire to christen every flat surface out of your system before we arrive. I take it the name of the castle has changed, but you’ve not changed the floo address, yes? And Mother says there’s no plumbing? Should I pack rural expedition gear, rather than formal dinner wear and country day wear? _

_ Do give me some details before I arrive prepared for every eventuality, won’t you? _

_ Looking forward to seeing you on the Solstice, and I swear if you just dump me with Miss Lovegood again, no cheese for you! _

_ Yours,  
_ _ D _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and we're T-2 days till the Yule Ball, here people. And the solstice, which in some ways is more important, depending on who you are.


	39. Chapter 33: Wherein there is a flurry of letters.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's like a snowstorm. But with letters.

_December 20, 199_  
_ _Malfoy Manor_

_Dear Hermione,_

_Well. This is a surprise. Yes, the fourth suitor was Michael Fielding. I suppose I ought to have looked more closely at the list of Curtain residents Ginny showed me, but I admit I have been triaging necessary duties and unfortunately the Grimmauld Place Townhouse will not be quite as finished as I had hoped by Christmas, though it will certainly be entirely done by graduation. But I am sure it will be charming to catch up with Michael, that is, should he choose to speak with me, which given the amount of history between us, I perhaps should not presuppose._

_Speaking of the past that is behind us, I received word this morning from Azkaban. Lucius has died in the night. He held on after the kiss longer than we thought he would, but not so long as might suggest intervention. I go to pick up the body today, and we will bury him this evening in the back of the park beneath a weeping cherry. Someone should weep for Lucius, even if I cannot right now. I am only grateful he has left no ghost. The kissed never do._

_Forgive me. I have, perhaps a quite natural turn of melancholy today and I can’t seem to shake it, so I shall end the letter here._

_Yours,  
_ _Narcissa_

* * *

It took Hermione four tries to manifest her patronus, but finally she did. 

_“Tell me what time tonight, and open the floo. You and Draco shouldn’t have to do this alone.”_

And if she didn’t open the floo, Hermione was still determined. She’d use the portkey.

* * *

_December 20, 199_  
_ _Hogwarts Castle_

_Dear Draco,_

_I’m so sorry. I’ll be there tonight. I won’t bring anyone else, though. It’s a private moment, but I’m claiming my right as your sister and Narcissa’s heir to hold you both when you cry. Lord knows enough people have held me._

_As to the rest, you have nothing to worry about. There’s something that’s like plumbing. Dress as you had planned. We won’t change the floo address until after. I handled the harpy with a surprising amount of ease. I won’t abandon you to Luna’s clutches, though it’s possible that if you relax you might enjoy her clutches, but no more of that._

_Love,  
_ _Hermione_

* * *

_December 20, 199_  
_ _Office of the Head_

_Your Majesty,_

_I can be available late this evening, from nine to ten, to open the tomb and do the deed. I presume you’re not just loaning Excalibur to Mr. Potter but would prefer to be present. It may be that the sword will need to be sharpened again after, as I believe he plans on setting the wand in question on the granite so it can’t escape. I do not recommend any other wizard be present, particularly Mr. Krum, as the wand tends to call to powerful wizards and distort their thinking. Interestingly, it has very little effect on powerful witches, so I believe you will be quite safe. So saying, if you wish to include Madam Potter and Miss Lovegood, that would be quite fine. Due to the likelihood of us saying more than twelve words to each other, I have also extended an invitation to the Countess Black._

_Just think. Once you graduate we might have tea and gossip on our own._

_Yours,  
_ _MM_

* * *

_December 20, 199_  
_ _Pendragon Suite_

_Dear Harry,_

_Have you forgotten something? Did you mean to tell me you wanted to borrow Excalibur to kill the Elder Wand? (I thought burying it and hoping for a peaceful life was your way out of its particular brand of madness?)_

_Of course you can borrow it, and you were right to assume, but I just got a letter from Minerva saying between nine and ten tonight, no other wizards, but witches are fine, particularly Ginny and Luna. Narcissa is invited, as Minerva and I will be in a room together. Well, sort of. I leave it to you if you want Ginny and Luna present. But actually ask them, don’t just think about it very hard and hope, well, alright, Luna might pick that up, but it might annoy Ginny._

_Don’t annoy Ginny._

_Love,  
_ _Hermione_

_PS - Lucius died in the night. Burial this evening before the ritual killing of the Elder Wand. I’m going by myself, I think, so they don’t have to be so proper and hold it all inside, but just to give you a heads up._

_PPS - Pulling rank. Sending this via Trip. You might be in the next room, but I don’t feel like looking and I have so much correspondence to deal with. It’s totally nuts. And it’s not like I’m going to do it tomorrow afternoon or evening. Or the day after that. Or really the day after that. And then it’s Christmas Eve and before you know it, an entire week has gone by._

* * *

_December 20, 199_  
_ _St. Swithins-in-the-City, London_

_Your Majesty,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. Thank you for including me in the general wedding party and residence for the duration of the festival. It’s very generous of you and quite unnecessary, but welcome all the same._

_I was sorry to hear that Viktor has yet to find an orthodox church that feels right to him, but I do quite understand how necessary it is to feel safe and deeply welcomed in your house of worship. Conservative theology preached from the pulpit, while popular, is not my particular cup of tea, either._

_As I live and work primarily in the non-magical world, which is of course exceedingly vast and significantly less insular than the wizarding world (and no force on earth could entice me to give up air conditioning or the BBC) it will be wonderful to see some old friends as I’m sure I shall over the course of the weekend, as well those members of my extended family who were able to secure tickets._

_I’m thrilled that your parents are well and out of hiding and that they, too, will be able to be at your wedding in particular. I know Helen and William would have hated to have missed it._

_I’ve corresponded with Headmistress McGonnagal and we’ve discussed the role I’ll have during the ritual. Just what is appropriate - at some point I’ll ask you to kneel, I’ll place my hands on your head and pronounce God’s blessing over the both of you, and your union._

_I’m sad that I came to St. Swithins six years too late to perform your baptism, but I hope you know that if you wish it, I would be most happy to baptize any children you and Viktor have, anywhere you would like the ceremony to be._

_I know you will be quite busy with quite a number of guests come the end of the year, and so I just wanted to say now how very proud of you I am, and how honored I am to continue to be included in your life as your priest._

_Your servant,  
_ _Michael Fielding+_

* * *

_December 20, 199_  
_ _Hogwarts Castle_

_Dear Fr. Michael,_

_Thank you for your kind letter. I am well and studiously avoiding thinking about all the things other people are organizing on my behalf so I don’t start second-guessing everything. It is a relief to be so surrounded by competent people even as delegating is somewhat nerve-wracking._

_Viktor will find, in time, a church that suits him. There are only so many in the country, after all, and given enough time he will try out every one until he finds the best for him. And if he has to go further afield, so be it._

_Can you recommend to us a decent spot for apparition within walking distance to the church? If you can and you wouldn’t mind, I’d really appreciate knowing it in time so we and all ours can attend the midnight service on Christmas Eve. Is it still at 11 PM, yes? And I know we need to arrive by 10:30 PM to get any kind of decent seat, and given how many of us there may possibly be, perhaps even earlier._

_I’ll be moving into Cair Paravel, Wales (floo direction not to change until after the festival) on the evening of December 22nd, so make sure to direct mail there. We haven’t a standard post box with the Royal Mail, yet, but it’s on my list._

_Viktor and I are planning on having our children baptized, though many things are undecided as of now. I will keep you updated on our decisions._

_Looking forward to hearing from you soon,  
_ _HRM Hermione_

* * *

_December 20, 199_  
_ _Long Bottom_

_Your Majesty,_

_Please do not concern yourself with such trivialities. You have quite enough on your plate as it is without worrying about getting to know me. Let us wait, not until your graduation, but until next fall, as I am sure even if you are not that your summer will be a busy time adjusting to many things, not least of which being marriage._

_I shall continue to send reports on the Wizengamot proceedings and I encourage you to continue to send me replies but only as you find it necessary to elucidate points of interest and a desired way of voting._

_If you need me for anything else, you have only to send for me._

_Honored to serve,  
_ _Augusta Longbottom_

* * *

_December 20, 199_  
_ _Hogwarts Castle_

_Augusta,_

_I appreciate your wisdom in these matters and will follow your lead. I admit that I do tend to overestimate what I can get done in a given amount of time, and then have to spend all my free hours rushing to finish. Or perhaps it would be better to admit that I spend the extra hours polishing the already finished product to perfection. I will consider examining this tendency of mine more closely and we shall see what I can do about it._

_I do, however, look forward to getting to know you when we are at leisure to do so._

_With thanks,  
_ _HRM Hermione_

* * *

_December 10, 199_  
_ _St. Jerome’s St, Oxford_

_Your Majesty,_

_I wanted to thank you for your kindness towards my son, Negash Berhe, and by extension to our whole family for your generous invitation to your wedding and for your offer to host us during the festival. We have duly responded in the positive to Madam G. Potter, but I wanted to take a moment and express my gratitude to you._

_We were not certain if Negash would fit in at school, as he was raised here in Oxford not only as a normal, non-magical person in the normal world, but also as the child of foreigners, for we had only been here two years when he was born. My husband, you see, is a tenured professor at Oxford, but even this does not protect us from all forms of bias, nor should it._

_Negash has always been such a quiet, intelligent boy, but he feels deeply and we were concerned for him. But with his first letter home, filled with the friends he had made, you and your brother among them, we no longer worried for him. It is not, in my experience, standard for upperclassmen to take notice of first years, and it is a mark of your kindness and compassion that you have done so. Thank you so very much._

_Yours,  
_ _Negalla Berhe_

* * *

_December 20, 199_  
_ _Hogwarts Castle_

_Mrs. Berhe,_

_Thank you for your letter dated on the tenth and I apologize for the delayed response. Unfortunately letters from new correspondents of all students are vetted by the Board of Governors and this sometimes delays the delivery of them by some weeks. It is, however, a very useful precaution in many other ways._

_It is my pleasure to call Negash a friend, and I have noticed in particular an intuitive understanding in him of the people that surround him._

_I also grew up in the normal world and Hogwarts was in some ways a difficult transition, and in other ways, a welcome change. Though Negash cannot do magic at home, while you are staying with me there will be plenty of witches and wizards available to supervise (this is in case something goes wrong and needs to be reversed, you understand) and so I hope you will have the opportunity to encourage some demonstrations on his part, and feel free to peruse the downstairs library we are putting together for guests which will include introductory texts to all major and minor subjects which I feel is always a comfort for non-magical parents to know, or at least it was for mine._

_Madam Ginny Potter will be in contact with you regarding transportation on the 31st, if she has not been already, and if you are concerned about anything for your stay I hope you will reach out to her._

_Yours in friendship,  
_ _HRM Hermione_

* * *

_Today,  
_ _Library_

_Mione,_

_Oops. I did forget that, didn’t I? Well, it’s been bothering me for some time. Messing with my dreams. It really wants me to use it. Really, really. And I’m really tired of people messing with my dreams. And I finally told Ginny and she pointed out that either Excalibur or the Sword of Gryffindor would probably do the trick and I didn’t want Minerva thinking someone had desecrated his tomb, or something. And I kinda wanted to use Excalibur, because what if I couldn’t pull the sword out of the hat this time? Always a concern, that._

_Sorry for forgetting,  
_ _Harry_

* * *

_December 20, 199_  
_ _Malfoy Manor_

_My dearest Hermione,_

_You are too kind. We will bury him quietly at seven. I would invite you for dinner after, but we will not eat today. Besides the fact that we collectively have no appetite, it is a Black tradition and a Malfoy one as well that you do not eat the day you bury the head of your house, in honor and mourning. (I do not mean to imply that this extends to you today, of course. But we will refrain.)_

_Draco will bury him, as the next head of house, as I buried Bella. It is a hard thing, but one day I will show you the spells so you will be prepared to do the same for me._

_It is a hard thing, to discuss death, but easier perhaps when it is inescapable, so I will say this. When I die, wherever it is you decide to bury me, I ask only that you plant my flowers over me, narcissus. To want anything more would be selfishness, but this, perhaps, is acceptable._

_Do you believe in Heaven, Hermione? Perhaps yours would only be populated with the very good at heart, as you yourself are. But what of those whose mistakes were only clear to them in hindsight? Those with faith, but faith in too many of the wrong things, perhaps? Would a merciful god punish a person for all eternity for mistakes made in a scant fifty-five years?_

_But no, forgive me. I should not look to you for absolution. That lies in one quarter and I am, at present, too much of everything to approach._

_I will see you at seven, and apparently again at nine. The Headmistress did not say the purpose of that meeting, but I find my interest waning. I will be present, however, and it will do my heart good to see you twice in one day._

_Yours,  
_ _Narcissa_

* * *

_December 20, 199_  
_ _Hogwarts Castle_

_Dear Narcissa,_

_Use my floo, at nine, please._

_God is merciful. I think, in the end, it is to this we must all trust. More merciful than we are, on our best days. The rest is the land of theologians and church doctrine, but I think it must all be commentary on those three words: God is merciful. So it doesn’t matter what I think, or how I imagine Heaven. God is merciful, and the rest is none of my business._

_We destroy the Elder Wand tonight, leaving only one Deathly Hallow left. Harry left it in Albus’ tomb, even though he won it in combat. But it isn’t a wholesome thing and it’s starting to manipulate Harry from afar and he’s rather tired of people and things doing that, so it dies tonight. Personally, I don’t imagine it going quietly into the night  
_

_Yours,  
_ _Hermione_

* * *

_December 20, 199_  
_ _Hogwarts Castle_

_My darling Viktor,_

_It’s not yet six and I’m totally overwhelmed. It’s a good thing I’ve finished my assignments for the rest of term because the correspondence today is overwhelming, and it’s not anything I can pawn off on Neville, either._

_If you’re not in the middle of something, would you come and have an early dinner with me in our suite? I’ll be missing dinner in the Great Hall today because I’ve got to go be with Narcissa and Draco as they bury Lucius at seven, and then at nine we’re killing an inanimate object, but neither one of those things are things you can be present for, and I do apologize for that. The first because I’m not sure they’d be able to honestly grieve with anyone else there, and the second because the thing we’re killing twists the minds of wizards, but not witches. It belongs to Harry, so he’ll destroy it, and he’s doing it with Excalibur. The rest of us will be there to make sure he actually does it and it doesn’t further twist his resolve into letting it live._

_If dinner isn’t an option, please know that I’m going to need you to hold me between the hours of eight and nine. Just hold me and let me cry. Well, it’s likely this will happen even if dinner is an option. But let me know soon because I need to put in an order for food in the next few minutes so I have time to eat at least part of it before I go._

_Forgive me for using your personal elf to get you this letter, in case you two were in the middle of something. I suppose I could have just waited for you to arrive or left you a note on the tea table. But I didn’t. So be it. I’m sure if I’ve annoyed you, you’ll let me know._

_Love,  
_ _Hermione_

* * *

A giant glowing dog bounded into Hermione’s study.

_“I’ll be with you in fifteen minutes, Myon. I bring my cello and play for you while you eat. No arguments. You need calm. I love you.”_

The dog, message finished, then bounded all the way around her desk, and sat down beside her, it’s gigantic head at eye-level, it’s translucent tail wagging behind it.

“Good boy,” she murmured. It lingered for a moment, and then bounded away, back to the south.

Of course, he hadn’t actually mentioned if he was going to eat or not. Hermione sighed and decided to order him dinner anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's it lovely? Sometimes I just have to love on my own work. Because as much as you dig it, so do I. :) 
> 
> Next chapter: Yule Ball! I'm so excited. I just finished writing it this morning as I watched the sunrise. I'll be editing it with my husband, hopefully today, and I'll be getting it out to you tomorrow or the next day. It's a long one. I'll have to break it up into parts...


	40. Chapter 34, Part 1: Wherein there is a Ball.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein there are also a few veiled references to Emily’s Cartoon’s ‘My Life As A Background Slytherin’.
> 
> Part 1 of 3: The time before the ball.  
> Part 2 of 3: The time during the ball.  
> Part 3 of 3: The time after the ball.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Parts of this three-part chapter I had written in February. Parts I finished writing at dawn yesterday morning. Pretty much I love all of it. The opening scene though... I might love that more than anything else I've written so far. That I had written back in February.
> 
> And for the first time reading it/hearing it read, my husband was finally able to follow the entire winning argument made by the headmistress from the twelfth century, which I _really_ enjoyed coming up with. I think it was about the eighth time he'd heard it read out. About. (I'll be happy to parse it in the comments, if anyone is interested.)

“Vy hello. And who are you fine gentlemen?”

Tommy and Negash stopped mid bite, their hands half-way to their faces, buttery fingers having become really just popcorn delivery mechanisms, because out of the fireplace ( _ the fireplace! It flamed GREEN and then a man in a tuxedo stepped out! And he looked like James Bond! But he sounded like a Bond Villain!)  _ stepped the most intimidating man they’d ever met at Hogwarts. 

They both looked at each other.

Then they looked at the man.

Then they looked at each other.

As one, they threw the popcorn bowl at his head, screamed, and ran around him. Negash dashed back into the sitting room, which was where Harry and Neville were getting prepared. Tommy, not quite thinking things through, dashed through the door on the  _ other  _ side of the fireplace and ended up in a room he’d never been in before.

Breathing hard and leaning on the door, he wished he could remember the locking spell. Instead he dragged one of the large armchairs across the room and pushed it against the door. He stood back and looked at his handiwork. Not bad. Not perfect. Especially if the Bond Villain wanted in. His watch probably had a laser in it. Could probably go right through the chair. But then maybe he’d trip on the pieces, and anyway, Tommy would be long gone by then.

He looked around the very large and rather nice room he found himself in. There were no immediate clues as to where he was but there were a  _ lot  _ of portraits containing old people staring at him. Well, most of them were old. All of them were staring, though.

“Pardon me, please,” Tommy said. He was always polite with portraits. You got directions a lot faster that way. “Could you direct me back to the Great Hall?” He could find his way from there.

“Only if you tell us how you got in here,” an old lady with a small wine glass said.

“It’s obvious how he got in here, Phillys. If you drank less, you’d remember more,” a cranky man in black said.

“Well, if you’d make me sober up potion, young man, I could drink  _ and  _ remember. You may have lived through a war, but  _ I  _ had to live through a plague.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call it  _ live, _ ” another man in black said.

“I am  _ not  _ your personal potioneer!” snarled the first man.

“No, you are the great black bat of the dungeons!” the tipsy woman replied.

“This! This is why I never stay in frame! And Minerva could  _ clearly  _ use some sane advice for a change!” the man in black replied, and Tommy watched transfixed as he stormed off and through the far background of the other paintings. Sometimes, like this, the portraits were better than telly.

“Go on! Flounce off! You’re late for the International Flouncing and Drama Queen Competition! I’m sure you’ll get _full marks,_ **_anyway!”_**

Tommy watched still, as the man in black, all the way across the room now and climbing in a picture of a rather bleak hillside with a lone cottage on it turned around and wordlessly - oh, golly - gave the two fingered salute to the drunk lady.

Tommy’s eyes were still round as he heard murmured behind him. “Severus, really. There’s a child present.”

The tiny figure crested the top of the hill, cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted. Tommy blushed.

_ “Fuck you, Phillys!”  _ came a voice from very far away.

A calm voice from high up finally gave him directions. “Down the stairway at the back of the office over there, young man. Take a left in the hallway, follow the curve, take the next right, then five stairways down and you’ll be right there. And don’t go through that doorway again, son. That’s for Her Majesty’s use only. And this is not an office you want to barge into unannounced. Be glad it was only us. Now, off you go. Left, Right, Five down.”

Tommy ran.

When the Headmistress returned two hours later she did a double take at the rearrangement of her furniture.

“What happened?” she asked the paintings at large, going to her desk to fetch her notes.

“Freak windstorm,” Phillys remarked before taking a sip.

“Then why are all my papers just fine?” Minerva asked, not buying it.

“Severus summoned a first year to corrupt,” Phineas remarked dryly.

Minerva just looked up and glared. “Pull the other one, it’s got bells on,” she remarked.

“Eenie, meanie, miney, mo… Sorry,” a painting higher up said. Tigris, from the eighteenth century. “Sorry. Freak windstorm it is. Came out of nowhere, Minerva. You know how this castle is. Has a mind of her own.”

Minerva sighed. “Why do I even try?” she asked, and left before a rhetorical argument began on the subject. 

The argument lasted five hours and thirty-nine minutes and was won by Bride, 1130-1197, who posited that the cosmological function that the process of inquiry had replaced, in these particular and peculiar times, was the blessed assurance that holy faith had once offered in a simpler age when killing people was the done thing and no one stressed about obliviation in the slightest, but that this was not an escatalogical shift necessitating existential dread, rather it required a new escatalogical imagination, mayhap it would even be the event horizon of a new appreciation for the ontology of the individual and the return, nay, reunification of the essential nexus of creator-creation-creature, thus clearing the fog and breaking the mirror darkly into which we have largely but spared a glance for what is behind. 

For another twenty-five minutes after her decisive victory, Bride led the Headmasters and Headmistresses in a traditional Irish war chant which, once translated, amounted to,  _ “Exit the cave! We deserve better!” _

Even the most recent addition to the gallery joined in, and having hashed out the answer to the essential question of the nature of the universe and discovering, again, that it amounted to both more and less than 42, but perhaps that could be taken as a general average, they all had a nap.

* * *

Afternoon classes had been cancelled for fourth years and up, and first through third year were each having house parties in the evenings.There would be kneazle races at Hufflepuff house, and all the seventh years had donated their kittens to the cause, and the prefects had crafted prizes, and the third years had designed the obstacle course complete with water hazard and catnip forest. The second years had designed the menu for the evening with the Head Elf of Hogwarts. The first years had decorated, but as soon as Tommy and Negash finished hanging the bunting they had made that spelled out the secret house word of power,  _ Hufflehug!,  _ but in the colors of all the houses, they nipped out and took their favorite eighth years up on the invitation of snacks and hanging out while they got ready for the ball.

They already knew, of course, that Neville had invited Miranda Fielding, a sixth year Hufflepuff to the ball, but just as friends, and every time Miranda said that very loudly in the badger den, all the girls had giggled and Negash didn’t get it. Couldn’t people go as friends?

It just all made Negash sigh. Big kids were weird sometimes.

Of course, the eighth years were really Adults, which is why some of them were married. And Harry would take his wife Ginny. And Hermione had asked Viktor to escort her. And Luna had asked Lord Malfoy to escort her. Which just went to show that all the boys shouldn’t have been so stressed about asking girls. Just sit back and let the girls do the asking. Really. It didn’t seem that difficult to Negash. Hermione and Luna certainly didn’t have any problem asking.

Negash knew, because Negash asked. They had both written to their favorite men after the ball was announced, and just said, there is a ball. Please go with me.

Negash had practiced in the mirror whenever there was a private moment in the month of November, because in three more years he would get to go, too. And just in case he wasn’t the favorite boy of a girl, he should probably be prepared. And Ginny had taught him and Tommy to waltz, and Harry helped too, but mostly he manned the gramophone in the room where the trolls do ballet.

And it had all been fun and skittles until the terrifyingly large Bond Villain who was either the Bulgarian Mr. Viktor Krum or the French Lord Draco Malfoy, and given the stories Negash had heard, it was probably Lord Malfoy, had  _ walked out of the fireplace. _

Negash leaned against the door he had just run through and slammed shut.

“Everything okay, Negash?” Harry asked, tying his tie incorrectly.

“Um,” and then Negash had to clear his throat.

“What’s up, mate?” Neville asked, pinning a flower to his lapel.

“Um. Is it normal for wizards to walk out of fireplaces?”

“Hermione does need to write a book,” Neville mused, apropos of being an adult, probably, and having a lot on his mind. Adults tended to do that. Mention random things when you asked perfectly reasonable questions. Totally bizarre. When Negash grew up, he wasn’t going to do that.

“Yup,” Harry said. “Totally normal. Think of it like a metro or subway system, or like a massive version of the Tube. Except, it’s called the Floo Network. Every stop has a name and some allow anyone through, some you have to have permission to use. Hermione’s, in there, you have to have permission to use it. Light a fire. Throw a pinch of floo powder in. Yell out your destination, and walk into the flames.”

Negash gave a little yell of horror.

“Yeah. It’s like that the first time. But the flames only tickle a bit, but you do have to clean yourself off after each time you get somewhere. Get used to it, though. Not so bad. So long as you don’t forget the cleaning bit at the end and end up looking like some sort of neglected street urchin.”

“Been there, done that,” Neville said. “So, who’s here? Draco or Viktor?” He was straightening his tie and shaking his head at Harry who still hadn’t gotten his.

Negash thought about his guess and then didn’t want to vocalize it. Or the fact that he had flung popcorn at his head. Or the fact that Tommy had disappeared. In fact, there was no part of this that he wanted to admit to in the slightest.

He shrugged.

“Hair color - black or white?” Harry asked.

“Black,” Negash said, afraid of either option, really.

“Viktor’s here!” Neville cried happily and went to open the door, but Negash wasn’t budging.

“Is everything alright, Negash?” Neville asked critically, starting at the young Hufflepuff, who was getting the sense that the adults in the room were about to cotton on to everything. Clearly it was time to go.

“Well! It was loads of fun. Thanks for inviting us, and thanks for the popcorn. Got to get back. Kneazle races, you know. If you see Tommy, tell him to get a wiggle on.”

“What was that about?” Negash could hear Harry ask before the portrait closed.

Negash shook his head and walked steadily on. Life was so much simpler in the badger den. James Bond and his Villains never walked out of fireplaces  _ there _ .

* * *

Hermione, Ginny, and Luna had been having an absolutely delightful time all afternoon. They had washed. They had primped. They had eaten chocolate. At the present moment they were entirely dressed, each with light makeup, perfect hair, and some jewelry. Some their own. Some borrowed from the Pendragon horde, as Hermione had taken to calling the jewelry Ginny had unearthed in the vault.

Hermione was wearing a small tiara of diamonds that went extremely well with the courting gifts from Viktor.

Ginny was wearing an arm cuff of sapphires that matched the earrings Harry had given her for her birthday, and was shown off by her sleeveless gown with a mandarin neckline.

Luna was, of course, wearing the moonstone circlet around her forehead that would, when Hermione was married, go to Viktor, as the white gold would match the mate of Morgana’s torc.

Dragontooth heeled shoes were by the door, each woman had a plate of truffles, and the three were sitting up on the made bed side-by-each, their backs against the headboard, shrieking with laughter.

Hermione sat between her two friends, the French style magazine open on her lap.

“Oh, Hermione,” Luna giggled. “This is priceless! I hope not many people can read lips.”

“And if they can?” Ginny cried while laughing. “We always suspected he was a stud.” She tapped the best picture of the bunch; full-sized, Viktor shirtless, the rose starting at his chest and following the happy trail home. “This either confirms it or marks him as a hell of a tease.”

Hermione grinned, groaning a little. “You first. Luna? How  _ is  _ Draco?”

Luna sighed, grinning. “It’s dreary. He’s a perfect gentleman. I got tired of waiting for him to propose, so I did last week. I had a ring, and everything. Very tasteful. Moonstone, of course. My father’s. He’s thinking about it. I’m sure he’ll figure it out by the first of the year, though, as I’m fully intending on seducing him over Christmas break. So… that’ll either make or break the deal.”

Ginny shrieked with laughter and curled up on herself.

“Come on!” Hermione said, nudging Ginny. “Glass houses. You all but kidnapped Harry at  _ midnight _ and eloped with him. Share.”

Ginny snorfled and tried to pull it together. She cleared her throat several times. It took a while, because she kept dissolving into giggles. Finally she waved her hands in the air and composed herself. She had a totally straight face. Briefly.

“Of course it’s all very private and intimate,” she finally managed to say. “But I can say that he is a sweet and attentive lover. Once, and only once thus far have I been able to entice him into sexy beast mode, but it was…  _ just  _ as delicious as you might imagine it would be.” Ginny smiled over at them with her eyes closed and both girls laughed.

“Your turn, Hermione. So it is sexy beast mode all the time?” Luna asked.

Hermione smiled and sighed. She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it. Then opened it. Then smiled. Then closed it.

She scrunched up her face, smiled, and nodded.

Shrieks of laughter.

“Not  _ all _ the time,” she qualified. “It is... soft and gentle, when I need it to be or occasionally when he needs it to be. And  _ very _ occasionally I walk in and find him tied to the bed,” she said, trying to suppress her smirk, and failing.

Both girls shrieked with laughter, again.

When she could be heard, she added, “But I do, but  _ I do very much look forward  _ to finally being penetrated by him. Ten more days. God, it’s been hard.”

“And long,” Ginny added.

“And thick!” Luna declared.

“And here’s to Hermione!” Ginny cried, picking up a bon-bon and holding it up for a toast. “She has survived three months of Viktor the  _ Beast  _ without a penetrative orgasm!  _ She is our Queen!” _

_ “To our Queen and her Beast!”  _ Luna cried, tapping her truffle against Ginny’s, then popping it in her mouth.

There was more shrieking when Hermione told them about the end of the first dinner with her in-laws. And then his letters were brought out.

“Oh-Merlin-I’ve-been-dying-to-get-a-peek-at-those-works-of-art!” Ginny gushed all at once.

Hermione clutched them possessively to her chest. “I will only share brief sections, and not ones that share details that are too intimate.”

“We already know you tie him to the bed, Hermione,” Luna pointed out. “All the same, neither of us will ever say anything, will we, Ginny?”

“Of course not,” she responded in all seriousness. “This is more than a state secret. Likewise, I only gave details about Harry because I know you two would rather die than tell anyone, including him, what we discussed. And I have to tell someone. And it’s not going to be my mother, unlike Hermione here. Helen Granger probably already knows Viktor’s exact dimensions and current stamina, not to mention all his kinks.

“Speaking of kinks,” she said, trying to keep the smile inside.

“Oh-Merlin-tell-me-tell-me-tell-me!” Ginny gushed, leaning in.

“I’m so curious,” Luna said, leaning in on the other side.

Hermione pulled out the letter she’d privately named  _ Hufflepuff Interruptus.  _ She held it to her chest and explained the background of the warming charm issue, briefly. There was a significant downturn in emotion, even though Ginny already knew some of the details. Both women hugged her. And then she unfolded the letter, held it in front of her and pointed to the place they should start.

“Oh, wow,” Luna said, her eyes round. 

_ “Sweet Nimue’s Lingerie Drawer,” _ Ginny breathed.

Hermione reread choice bits, herself.

_ ‘Adequate time must be spent making love to the skin of your neck, the sensitive earlobe, and down to the softly rounded shoulders that carry so much weight for such small things. A brief massage, perhaps, just to get out the worst of the knots but not enough to put you to sleep, for I am coming to know that is what will happen if I continue on too long in that vein. And for this evening, I do not want you to go to sleep too early. Rather, I must pay proper attention to your arms, Myon. So many interesting spots that bring you pleasure along your inner arms and I must exploit them all, but of course if I can reach them and your shoulders both, you are at the very least half naked (for which I can never complain) but this means you are also likely cold.’ _

“Turn the page?” Ginny asked quietly.

“Turn the page,” Luna agreed quietly, and Hermione did so. And then she started skimming until she got to one of her favorite spots, which she read and reread.

_ ‘You know I enjoy being tied to your bed, Myon. I like being at your mercy. I like not having to be the one with all the answers, the one to direct every situation. And perhaps if I had been in war I might feel very different about being bound and restricted, but I have not and so I do not. And so I do understand that while you may consent to have me tied to your bed, I would never dream of asking to reverse these roles, and I have no desire to do so. Oh, but Myon, this does not mean I have no wish to dominate you in ways you would find primarily unexceptionable and as an important secondary measure, intensely pleasurable. And it seems, with the warming charm as it now stands between us, I have found such a way.’ _

“Turn the page?!” Ginny whispered.

“Turn the page!” Luna whispered right back. Hermione did so, grinning.

Then she found another favorite part and read and reread it.

‘ _ Hermione, I love dominating you, in those few moments when we do not act as complete equals. It is like riding a dragon while simultaneously fucking you (and in this moment you must not compare it to your actual experience of riding a dragon, and you must factor in my love of flying and ridiculously dangerous stunts), or perhaps better said, it is like you are the dragon and for the purposes of this metaphor we shall assume I am as well, but the fucking mid-flight remains the same. This domination takes nothing away permanently or temporarily from your power and strength and beauty, it only allows me to ride the very crest of it and claim you as my own. _

_ ‘All this is present for me every time, now, that I cast the warming charm and see its effects on you. Warmth for you, yes, but also a spike of sexual pleasure and a deep awareness of me all around you, and a joy and pleasure at that, too. And for a moment at the base of my cock it feels like the dragons are flying and fucking and I am high, riding on your power and strength and beauty.’ _

Mild shrieking disguised as a request to turn the page, and Hermione did so. It was the last one of the letter.

_ ‘And so in truth, my beautiful and powerful Myon, that is today’s fantasy. We are somewhere cold. There is snow all around. It is private though, and as you sit on my lap and ride me for your own pleasure, I am wrapping you in near constant warming charms, my eyes hooded, my hands sedately bracing me on the ground behind me as I lean back slightly. I watch you fuck yourself on me and I am quietly, intensely dominant over you. You scream in pleasure as I am simultaneously inside of you and surrounding you and it is all I can do to keep quiet, to stay in control as your allure and love unravel me. Focusing on casting the warming charms over different parts of your anatomy, not forgetting the head of your clit in a concentrated manner, does help. And when you come and lay on my chest, momentarily exhausted, then I will shift us and revive you, lay you back and eat you, but I will draw it out until you are begging me. And by this time I imagine my cock is weeping for you again and so if I am very good at this at this point, I will cause you to come just at the beginning of my fucking of you as you lay back and I on my hands and knees over you. And so then the fucking continues and you perhaps catch up just in time to be ready and energetic for something very hard indeed. At which point, I think, we will both be on our hands and knees and the hard fucking continues, along with the warming charms, and all the delicious while you are mine in every possible way and I will come so hard, Myon, because I love it so much. I love being dominant over you. I love fucking the dragon in all her power and beauty and strength. _

_ ‘You are my dragon, Myon, in all the best of ways.’ _

She refolded the letter as one friend, then another simulated a faint against her shoulders. 

“Wow, Hermione,” Luna said, her voice quite serious now. “Sexy beast doesn’t really cover it.”

Ginny moaned in what might have been agreement. “I. Don’t. Have.  _ Words,”  _ Ginny grated out, still collapsed.

“That probably won’t last long,” Luna pointed out. Hermione shook her head in agreement.

There was silence for a long while. Hermione quietly replaced the letter and put the stack back in her purse, and pulled the magazine closer to her, idly looking at Viktor in the photo shoot.

“You know,” Luna began pensively, “the photos, as good as they are, really don’t do him justice. The article is heinous, of course. But he’s really so much more than his body, more than a sexy beast. He’s a person. Beautifully complex. Still imperfect. And a good match for you. And I’m glad he’s giving you as many orgasms as you can handle. You need it.”

Hermione was totally touched until the very end of Luna’s statement, when she burst out laughing. “What do you mean, ‘I need it’?” she asked, somewhat offended. Almost. Sort of. Maybe.

Ginny groaned and finally leaned up and off Hermione’s shoulder. “Oh witch, you totally need it. We all do. It’s been a hard war and a hard life, and you had to shoulder so much bloody responsibility, Hermione. I mean, we all had our share far above normal, but yours was just fucking insane. Yours and Harry’s, of course. He was responsible for saving the world. And you were responsible for saving him and helping him save the world, which sometimes seems like more to me, especially when I can feel just how broken he really is.

_ “More orgasms!”  _ Ginny shouted, raising her fist.

_ “More orgasms!”  _ Luna agreed.

Laughing, Hermione decided to agree.  _ “More orgasms!”  _ she happily cried.

The chant went on for a moment or two more before it subsided into a happy quiet.

“He’s still a sexy beast, though,” Ginny pointed out, tapping one of the pictures.

“Oh, certainly,” Luna agreed. She pointed to another picture. “Look at his eyes here. This one in particular. You can see very clearly, can’t you? How much in this particular moment he was clearly imagining having sex with Hermione, in particular sex that ensures her more orgasms than him?”

Ginny turned the magazine slightly, and Hermione looked on.

“Oh… wow. You really can. You know, I overlooked that one because it’s smaller and not as flashy as the others, but in its way, it’s the steamiest.

“Damn, Hermione, I’d say you’re just a lucky bitch, but in truth, I wouldn’t trade Harry for Viktor even if I could. I mean, Harry’s a lot more broken and Viktor seems to really have his shit together, but…”

“You need each other,” Hermione added. “I get it. And you’re good for each other.” Hermione put an arm around Ginny. “I’m so glad you two are together. You’re both better together than apart.”

“Definitely,” Luna agreed. “And while I agree that Viktor is a really beautiful person, inside and out, I think what I really need in this world is Draco. He’s almost ready to come out of his shell, and when he does, I think he’ll end up being magnificent. I can see it so clearly.”

Hermione put her other arm around Luna and the three just sat in the quiet, each thinking of their own beautiful man and his differing level of brokenness. It might have been a darkly pensive moment, but it wasn’t. It was hopeful and bright.

* * *

When Hermione walked out of her bedroom, closing the door behind her, Viktor was left standing breathless.

She was radiant in her beauty.

There was no one thing that Viktor could point to and say, ‘it was the dress, that darkened from an ice blue to a midnight blue as it went down,’ or, ‘it was her hair, soft, shimmering, coiled, and decked with diamonds,’ or, ‘it was her eyes, filled with joy and her face, transformed with laughter.’

All such considerations required analysis and rational thought, of which Viktor was not currently capable. All he knew, and he certainly knew it deep in his bones, was that she looked once more like Aphrodite stepping down from Mount Olympus and this time,  _ this time,  _ he wasn’t stuck on a broom for three hours of agonizing hell. He still had to act like a gentleman, and the charm certainly helped, but he could touch her and be touched. He would hold her in his arms and dance with her all night if he could get away with it. And he could finally end a night of a Yule Ball properly with her, dancing the last dance, and stealing away for a kiss.

And this time, this time he would be able to kiss every inch of her- but he pushed the thought away. No need to overpower the charm. It was enough that he was pulled magnetically to her and when he bowed over her hand and caressed the soft skin with his lips, the smell of her skin filled his mind with calm and his veins with fire.

He looked up at her and could only think of how much he loved her.

“Good evening, Viktor,” she murmured quietly, smiling at him and it was such a different smile than the one he got that night, the night of the  _ other  _ Yule Ball. That one had been so shy, but so luminous and it had been the very first time he had seriously considered that he might be able to court her successfully.

Well, he had thought that, amongst other more carnal thoughts. But carnal thoughts about Myon were a mainstay since he’d first met her, so that was nothing unusual.

Oh, but this time. This time her smile reached deep inside of him and put a collar and leash around his base instinct. He would heel all night. And this time,  _ oh, this time  _ he wouldn’t return to his ship alone, confused and rueful. There were so many options for what they might do and they all involved being together, having total clarity, and profound sexual fulfillment. Preferably all night long.

Viktor trained his mind. It really wouldn’t do to overpower the charm and have to go without all evening long.

“You look radiant, Myon,” he whispered instead as the other men with present escorts pinned flowers to their dresses.

“Thank you,” she replied quietly. “And you, my beautiful man, look ruthlessly handsome this evening.”

Viktor watched as her eyes narrowed and her smile widened. He never would have considered that particular adverb to modify that particular adjective. Still. It got her point across admirably, and made him smile into the bargain.

He heard her very quiet groan and he reveled in it. He offered his arm to her as the other couples were beginning to leave, and they followed the rest out and down the hallway of a castle he had not walked through in years. It was surreal. He had been sleeping here steadily for weeks, but he never set foot outside of Hermione’s suite.

“So, did you get to meet Tommy and Negash, or were they gone before you arrived?” Hermione said conversationally as they walked through the hallways.

Viktor considered his response before replying. “I saw them in passing.”

“They’re such sweet boys,” she pointed out. “I think you’ll like them.”

Viktor had no doubt that they could be sweet upon occasion, and he had no doubt at all that they were boys, which meant they could also be hellions when necessary or convenient, the convenience being, of course, their own. 

Viktor was certain that they would need to discuss this before they actually had any children of their own, though now was clearly not the time.

“Mm.”

“How was your day?”

“Good, good,” he responded. “I spent some time packing, some time shopping.”

“Oh?” Hermione asked. “What did you buy?”

Viktor looked over at her, but not quite as far down as he usually would, due to the height of her shoes. “I couldn’t possibly comment,” he said with a smirk.

“Ooh, it was for me, right. Nevermind. Out of curiosity, and not that I haven’t planned other things to give you for Christmas, including an early present I’ve left on the bed for you-”

At this his interest piqued, but surely it wasn’t related to sex or she wouldn’t be discussing it on an open stairway that was cooperating and continuing to go down.

“-but are you interested in the same sort of Christmas present as you requested for your birthday?”

Viktor swallowed a smirk. “Mm. Perhaps. Of a sort. There are complicating factors, as a Christmas present.” Mostly the presence of houseguests. One wasn’t meant to be tied to a bed all day and all night when one had houseguests to entertain. One was, at least, expected to show up to two meals a day, if not four. On a convenient Saturday or Sunday in Hogwarts, however, with homework done and suitemates warned, and particularly with personal elves supplying infusions of food into the process, one might quietly get tied to one’s marriage bed and thoroughly fucked over with only brief breaks for really, quite a long time indeed.

Not that he was going to mention this in a hallway, either.

“I see, yes,” Hermione agreed, possibly understanding all that he did not say. Possibly. His beautiful, lusty maenad probably did. “Well, I’ll just strike that from the list, then.”

“Mm,” he grunted in dismay, hoping she was just teasing him.

Her throaty laugh assured him she was.

“But will you want this present on Western Christmas Eve or Eastern Christmas Eve?”

“Both,” he immediately responded, and then tried to stop thinking about the mechanics of having his arms tied to the bed, but having her simultaneously sitting on his face. Where, precisely, would her legs go, and would she be able to hold that position comfortably? It was a question he had ever since the last time, when they hadn’t done it. Perhaps if the ropes were a bit longer and he was farther down the bed...

He took another deep breath and knew he had to change the subject. “And how was your day, Myon?”

“Good. The morning sped by, and then Potions, Defence, Arithmancy, and Ancient Runes were canceled. Had a lovely time getting ready with the ladies.”

She continued on and Viktor listened, and he also couldn’t help but think about the last time he had walked these hallways. As they got in line for the photographer she’d refused last time, he could feel the shadow of sorrow for how broken he had been when he’d left her, how many fragile and tiny pieces he had been in when he had to say goodbye.

Hermione paused in her quiet story and he looked over at her. She leaned in and he wondered at her actions, but when she whispered in his ear he understood.

“Are you alright?” 

Her voice was barely audible.

“I will be,” he murmured in return. Now was neither the time nor the place, but it did make Viktor realize that this part of his past which he thought he had finished healing... There was at least one more layer to go.

He would write to Papa in the morning, before he checked out of the hotel. 

As they stood quietly in line, Viktor focused on his breathing, making it deep and even, focusing on Hermione’s hand on his arm. There were many things he wished he could say, but all required more privacy than they had and all would require time and energy to discuss and damn it, he just wanted to enjoy himself this evening with his beautiful Myon.

She leaned in again, and he met her half way, giving her his ear. Her whisper was still just barely audible. “Whatever is going on with you, please know that I love you and I’m so glad we’re here together, and I promise to give you a proper goodnight kiss this time.”

Viktor grinned despite the melancholy turn of his mood and just for tonight allowed himself to take the easy way out. He stared into her gaze and got a little lost there and in losing himself, lost his melancholy as well.

He leaned in to speak in her ear and was equally as soft as she had been in his. “And this time, if someone makes you cry, I will throttle them, Myon. And if you run, I will chase. And what I would have done in Greenhouse Three in my wildest dreams will not compare to what happens tonight in your bed.”

He could feel her silent laughter, they were so close.

She shifted so her lips were by his ear again. “I see you’re feeling better.”

He shifted so his lips brushed by the shell of her ear, his nose in her hair. “Yes, thank you.”

The pictures were quickly taken and once finished, the two couples who had been ahead of them gathered around for another single quick picture of all six of them - the three odd-ball siblings, and their dates. An assistant had taken down the information of where to send the pictures, mostly to Cair Paravel, Wales, as it turned out, and then Viktor led Hermione into the Great Hall.

It was nothing like the last time he had done it, despite the fact that many, many elements were the same.

There were burn scars and the marks of battering rams on the open doors to the Great Hall that had not been there before. The old familiar pang of shame and dread crept up and Viktor batted it back down again. Perhaps he should have been there, but he hadn’t been. And if there should be a next time in his lifetime, he would be, without a single doubt.

It was not much consolation, but it was all he had.

Viktor turned his focus back on Hermione, took several deep breaths and was mostly successful at regaining a sense of being happy to be where he was. The guilt he would deal with, again, tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because my essential-worker-husband and I have been down with COVID-19 (yes, we caught it, no we're mostly fine) I'm a bit behind in many things, but one of them is giving away free copies of my debut novel. If that's something that is remotely interesting to you, you can read all about it in the pinned post on my blog, sareliz.com.


	41. Chapter 34, Part 2: Wherein there is a Ball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just as you would think it might be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This makes 300,000 words. I don't know about you, but I'm celebrating. :)

Neville escorted Miranda Fielding - looking lovely, with perfect breasts on display, and he was really trying to focus on that,  _ and not  _ on Viktor who arrived looking about as edible as a person could look - and walked silently into the Great Hall, in fact, right behind Luna and Draco. Miranda was gushing in an endearing way and was clearly trying not to angle an introduction to Hermione so much as maneuver so that Neville would spontaneously offer it. Which he would have anyway, really, but it was sweet of her to not ask and thus put him in a difficult situation if he hadn’t wanted to, or needed to say no.

But Luna and Draco made a fascinating couple, and that had his attention at present. Never in a million years would he have suspected that Luna would be attracted to the ferret, that she would actually formally court his affections, and that said ferret would be open to the idea. And yet there they were, the toxic blond and his enlightened Cassandra. Visually they were like a set of matched bookends. But deeper down two more different people Neville could not actually fathom.

Neville wondered how the courtship actually… sort of…  _ worked.  _ How did one go about courting the affections of a man? He’d have to ask her. He might have to do it himself one day.

Still, when there was an opportune moment, just as Hermione and Viktor had chosen a round table for them all to sit at, Neville introduced Miranda to Hermione first, then everyone else and was glad when Hermione just spontaneously started to make conversation with her. Turns out Miranda’s second cousin was Hermione’s priest back home, but that wasn’t such a huge surprise. If you looked back far enough, everyone who had been here for more than two hundred years was related to everyone else. According to some of Hermione’s theories, even muggle-borns were related to us as well, just maybe more distantly. It was really only people who were recent transplants to the area, like the Patels, or the Berhes, or really, alright, people like  _ Viktor  _ who were totally new blood into the gene pool. Not even local muggles could be depended on for that, because how do you know they’re not a seventh-generation squib?

It was fascinating, really, and not anything he’d grown up thinking, really, though he’d grown up worrying that he was a squib. He’d grown up assuming it, really. His Hogwarts letter had been such a relief.

Neville’s attention was drawn back to his companions as dinner was served. It was, essentially, roasted chicken, one starch and three vegetables, and unlike other tables, no one here had dietary restrictions, so each plate looked the same. It wasn’t served family style today, but in a sort of quick banquet style, with all four courses on different plates around your place setting. Main course. Salad. Desert. Fruit and tea.

Conversation buzzed around him and he took it in quietly, as was his wont. He was never one to make big contributions to a conversation, unless he had something very particular to add, but that didn’t mean he didn’t thoroughly enjoy it. Really it was Ginny, Miranda, and Hermione who spoke the most, though of course they were quite kind and didn’t talk about things that would alienate Miranda, being the only one outside the inner circle. Even the blond ferret was more on the inside than she was, given that she was a relative stranger.

They talked about classes, what people were looking forward to in the new year. When Miranda asked what everyone was planning on doing after graduation, almost everyone answered in a single word, simply going around the table.

“Politics,” Hermione said, on a grin.

“Quidditch,” Viktor pointed out.

“Business,” Ginny said obliquely, but Neville knew she was following in Fred and George’s footsteps and becoming an entrepreneur.

“Librarian,” Harry said blandly before taking another bite of chicken.

“I’m Hermione’s assistant,” Neville said and Miranda looked to her other side where Luna sat.

“News media,” Luna responded serenely.

“Business. Mostly wine making,” Draco said, finishing the circle.

And then Hermione talked with Draco and Luna talked with Miranda and Neville was left to his own thoughts.

Miranda was nice enough, but he was glad they had been clear they were only going as friends. Great breasts aside, he wasn’t even sure he wanted to know her better. There was no interest, no spark, and though she certainly seemed interested in him it seemed rather more that she wanted to being able to rub elbows with Harry and Hermione, and possibly Viktor. She was very polite about it, of course. She was from a good family and she had manners, after all. But it was pretty obvious to Neville that it was the status that intrigued her, and Gran had been very, very clear about that, back when the owls had started arriving with all those proposals.

_ “You will find someone who loves you for you. When you do, then you will consider marriage, and not a moment before.”  _

Gran was habitually succinct and that moment had been no different.

And really, what Neville wanted was Viktor.

Well, no, not Viktor. And he hadn’t even felt anything at all but respect and maybe a little hero worship for the man before he had read that letter.

Neville had thought quite a lot about that letter.

It was, he considered, the depth of love and devotion that Krum had for Hermione, even as an opening salvo in their courtship. Neville hadn’t even really been aware that people  _ could  _ love that passionately, that devotedly. And now that he knew it existed…

_ Fuck  _ he wanted it.

And it was all too easy to read the letter,  _ oh and he had _ , juxtaposing himself for Hermione, as if Viktor, or someone like him, had been that devoted to  _ him.  _ Which, reality was quick to inform Neville, was not actually what had happened.

And sure, Viktor happened to be someone he liked anyway, as a person, and though he couldn’t be called classically handsome, he was striking and as likely as not he had an amazing body - which Neville was not, he was  _ not  _ thinking of at dinner with Miranda - and probably a really great cock, if only because it was Viktor’s cock - oh, Merlin he really had to stop thinking about this at dinner with Miranda - and Neville was quite curious as to how it compared with his own cock, pure curiosity you understand -  _ no, stop, stop, stop, stop. Miranda. You are on a friend’s date with Miranda. Stop mentally masturbating over other people. It’s rude. It’s rude, even if you are just on a friend’s date. _

Neville took a deep breath and redoubled his mental focus and was relieved when Luna brought him in on their conversation. He happily participated and answered all the questions she put to him with as much verbosity as he could manage.

* * *

The dancing was the easy part. His feet easily flew through the steps and there would only be so much formal dancing, about an hour or a little less, before it all devolved and Accio Heelstrike took over from the quintet. There would be slow songs after that, but not ones you’d want to dance to with your sister.

But that was a hurdle he would get over later. Hermione had promised the second dance to him and the third to Harry and every other one to Viktor who had begun to pout slightly when she started doling out promises to dance. Draco had wondered about that. He wouldn’t have thought such blatant emotional manipulation would work on her, but it did. Perhaps  _ because _ it was blatant?

And so it was decided. Draco would dance the first dance with Luna, the second with Hermione, the third with Ginerva, and then, his credibility established, he and Luna would go and seek out the Headmistress and see how he fared there.

And Luna did let him lead, as she promised.

And Luna was a charming conversationalist.

But could he imagine spending his life with her? Imagining having sex with her hadn’t been a problem so far, but there were still so many things unsaid between them.

His family had imprisoned her. He still wasn’t entirely clear how or exactly when she had escaped though it was likely Dobby, and if so then right before he set Potter and Weasley free. But his family had imprisoned her and Draco suspected his father had been part of the raid in which her own father died. Whether or not Lucius did the deed himself almost didn’t matter. He was there. He participated. He was complicit.

Draco was complicit. He was the one who had put her in the dungeon, in their family’s personal prison cell. He was certain the Lovegood’s did not have a prison cell in the basement to deal with enemies. And now she was supposed to become the mistress of that same house? The snakes were one thing, and easily donated back to the exotic dealer from which at least one of them came. But how do you gloss over the fact that you once imprisoned your own wife?

“It’s all a lot easier than you think it is,” Luna said, apropos of nothing so far as Draco could tell. Not that he ever let that stop him in conversation.

“Oh?” he asked, drawing the word out as if he disagreed.

“It bears longer conversation in a more private venue, perhaps, and that can be afforded later, if you’re amenable.”

“I’ll consider it,” he said, still not knowing what the hell they were talking about.

“It doesn’t upset me, you know,” Luna pointed out affably, just after he had lifted her in the air and set her lightly back onto her feet again.

“No, you seem quite even-keeled, I will admit,” he pointed out, and it was a general truth, to be sure, and specifically applicable, he was certain, in this circumstance she was discussing and of which he was utterly unaware.

“I think I achieved enlightenment in your basement, you know. Or something very close to it. How could I possibly resent such an experience?”

Draco very nearly missed a step. She continued as if she didn’t notice, and he seriously doubted  _ that.  _ But it was a kind gesture for her to make. 

“I decided there and then to devote my life to love, to devote all my knowledge to love, to devote all my insight to love. And it didn’t matter to me, not then and not now, the shape or length or breadth of my life. Only the content mattered. Time is irrelevant to me, in so many ways. If I live to be a hundred and thirty, or I die tonight, I know that I’m fulfilling my function entirely and completely in every moment of every day, so what is there to regret?”

Draco was gobsmacked and endeavoring to hide it, just as an instinctive reaction. She let him be and gave him silence in which to process her words. Eventually, he spoke.

“Miss Lovegood,” he said frankly, “why do you want to marry me?” Nothing else had worked, so as a last ditch effort, Draco tried honesty.

She tilted her head and looked at him quietly for a moment as they danced.

“There are many different versions of the answer to this question. They’re all true, and they all amount to the same thing, from different perspectives. And if you decide you want to share your life with me, I’ll share them all with you, eventually, as many as you want to hear. For tonight, I’ll say this, and you can trust that it is true, utterly true. I want to marry you because I see how beautiful you are on the inside, beyond the brokenness and the pain, and I want to be on hand when you realize it, too. Also,” and here she leaned into him slightly and lowered her voice, “I think you’re sexy as fuck.”

And then the dance was over and Draco had moved from a minor state of shock to a rather more major one, and it was time to dance with Hermione.

“You okay?”

He’d gone through all the motions, including air kisses to both cheeks before he took her hand and led her out, and he still hadn’t misstepped in the waltz, but neither was he being terribly attentive.

“Luna thinks I’m sexy. As fuck,” he said distractedly.

“Oh, yes. That. I know,” said his know-it-all sister.

“What?” he asked, demanding to know more.

“Things have been said in confidence,” she pointed out. “I know how keen on you she is, and now you do, too, so I feel comfortable confirming it. Linger tonight in my study if you like. Harry is willing to loan her his invisibility cloak to get back to the tower when she needs to, and I’ve told Tampy to listen for her in case you two need a midnight snack.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing, Granger,” he whispered, and only realized he’d slipped on her name at the last moment, but he let it go. “I feel like I’m drowning.”

“Then you have two choices. Choice one, stand up and walk out of the pool. I can assure you with confidence that if you choose this path, it’s only three feet deep. So just stand up, and walk away. Choice two, use the gills you’ve already grown. I can assure you with equal confidence that if you choose  _ this _ path you will find yourself with the most beautiful ocean to explore, and companions with which to explore it. You already have everything you need. You have legs and gills, and it’s your choice which ones to use in this situation. But until you choose, it’s probably going to continue to suck.”

“God, you’re an annoying know-it-all,” Draco remarked scathingly, an entirely failed effort to hide his tumultuous feelings. But Granger only grinned up at him.

“It’s part of my charm,” she assured him, still smiling.

The rest of the dance passed in quiet and when Draco bowed and grudgingly thanked her, they both knew he wasn’t thanking her for the dance. He was thanking her for everything else.

Next was Ginerva Adora, his third cousin through his mother’s side that he’d never been allowed to acknowledge.

“Thank you for consenting to this dance, Madam Potter,” he said formally.

“You’re welcome, Lord Malfoy,” she answered back with greater ease than he would have guessed from her family of origin. Theirs was an old family, but their wealth had been squandered a hundred years before, they had never been terribly good at being self-sufficient, and they’d sold off their last house elf three generations ago.

Then again, his father had almost managed to squander the Malfoy fortune and had nearly let the vineyards go entirely. They could get by, but they were three crises and a lavish wedding away from having to have a discreet auction of all the dark items in the house, which they might well do anyway.

It was hardly a time for him to get married, from a practical standpoint.

Then again, she would have her own work, her own fortune to build. And perhaps the time to get married, from a practical standpoint, was the time opportunity presented the option.

“Lovely evening, isn’t it?” his partner said, and it jerked his attention back to the present. He was sadly neglecting conversation with her and that was not good. He had no wish to offer offence.

“Quite lovely. Even more beautiful than the last time, I think,” he remarked. 

“Accio Heelstrike is quite good. I believe your mother booked them for the festival as well,” said Potter’s rather elegant better half.

“Yes, I believe she did. Murepent, also. Do you enjoy their music?”

“Occasionally, yes. A bit hard for me, for all the time, especially when I’m concentrating on a project. I prefer classical music for that, when I can get it.”

“What sort of projects are you working on, if I may ask?” he put to her, glad for a conversational segue into something more interesting than pleasantries, and he was interested indeed to discover what fascinating plans she had for after her graduation.

Her description was brief, but compelling.

“Are you looking for investors?” Draco asked.

A shrewd glance narrowed on him. “Are you looking to invest?”

“Yes,” he answered plainly, having forgotten momentarily he was dealing with scrupulously honest and direct people. “Think about what you imagine a ten percent silent share of your profits would be worth in starter capital. I wouldn’t require any say or stake in your business decisions, but I would require an annual audit done by a third party.”

“That seems fair. Let me think about this for a bit.”

“Of course,” he assured her. “The offer’s on the table. I’m not going anywhere.”

“May I call you Draco?” she asked, grinning. While it was true she had done so before, usually with a fair amount of scorn, they were starting afresh now, and somehow it seemed appropriate.

“You may. And may I use your given name as well?”

She narrowed her glance. “You may call me Ginny,” she agreed.

He’d always thought that Ginerva was quite a nice name, but Draco took what he could get.

And then the dance was over and Luna was there with Harry and they bowed to their previous partners and greeted their new ones.

He and Luna walked across the empty hall in the relative quiet. It would be a minute and a half between songs, just enough to change partners, possibly, if one didn’t pause to vomit and run away.

“You have nothing to fear in this, Lord Malfoy,” Luna’s quiet voice assured him and he led her physically and she led him emotionally across to where the Headmistress was speaking with some other teachers, including Luna’s head of house.

And then they were there.

“Hello, Miss Lovegood. Good evening, Lord Malfoy. Welcome back to Hogwarts,” the Headmistress said, cordially greeting him and putting her punch to one side.

His stomach bottomed out. “Thank you for allowing me to escort Miss Lovegood to the ball.”

“She is remarkably wise in one so young,” the elder witch responded, nodding slightly to his companion.

Draco couldn’t quite be certain, but it seemed like it might have been a rather opaque compliment? Or more likely, she was implying Luna’s judgement was trustworthy. No, definitely the latter, come to think of it.

“Would you be willing to give me this dance, Headmistress?” Draco asked, standing his ground and absolutely not running away.

“I would, yes,” she said, and they bowed to each other before he took her hand and let her out, vaguely aware of Luna asking her head of house to dance with her.

And then he danced with the Headmistress of Hogwarts. She waltzed quite well and they spoke not a single word.

Afterwards, when it was all over and he had done the pretty, and he was back in the sanity and comfort of Luna’s company, that was the moment he realized that he could, perhaps marry her and find happiness with her.

She felt remarkably safe.

* * *

A flock of young ladies that had been twittering and staring at Viktor and Hermione - well, probably just Viktor - were getting closer and closer, and Ginny knew that look. They were gathering their courage.

She had been dancing quietly with Harry (and consequently, Saucepot, but that was fine, and it was fun to work on amusing them both conversationally) but the dance was winding down and she was just close enough to Viktor and Hermione that her plan might work.

“How do you feel about asking Hermione to dance again?” Ginny murmured to her husband.

“Yeah, alright.” He gave her a searching look. “You’ve got that phoenix look about you, Gin. Has Viktor upset you?”

“No, not him. It’s the vultures that are circling him like a dead deer. When you’re done with your dance with Hermione, we’ll meet you at the drinks table, okay? She doesn’t need to fight every battle by herself.”

Harry smiled grimly. “God, I love you.” (To this, Saucepot nodded vigorously.)

Ginny smiled similarly in return.

The dance ended and they were right next to the people they needed to be.

“Fancy a twirl?” Harry said amiably to Hermione who was looking particularly radiant with Viktor by her side.

Just behind, Ginny addressed Viktor. “Will you dance with me, Viktor? I promise not to lead,” she said with a cheeky grin.

Viktor nodded and took up Hermione’s hand, kissed it and let her go to dance with her brother. He offered his hand to Ginny as the next song was beginning.

After several long moments of silent waltzing, and he really was quite good at it, he looked at her and finally asked.

“And what is this about?”

Ginny looked up at him with innocence in her eyes. “Does there need to be something up? Can’t I just have a dance with my brother-in-law?”

He smirked. “I recognize a concerted effort when I see it, Madam Black Pendragon Peveril Potter.”

Ginny giggled at the ridiculousness of her full name. Well, full last name.

Viktor smiled.

Ginny explained her plan.

“You would defend my honor? Hermione could, if she wished.”

“Yes,” Ginny drawled. “But it would probably ruin her night to do it, whereas it just adds spice to mine.”

Viktor laughed, but didn’t miss a step.

Finally he said, “You are not a woman I would wish to cross. I accept your plan. And I thank you on my own behalf, and for saving Hermione’s evening. I have already promised to throttle anyone who makes her cry tonight.”

“I knew we’d see eye to eye,” Ginny said on a smile.

It was rather a predatory smile, all things considered.

Viktor maneuvered them very well such that when the dance was drawing to a close, they were quite near the pack of girls salivating like wild dogs.

“Won’t be a moment,” Ginny murmured to him and slipped her arm out of his and took the few steps away from him and toward them that would be necessary for quiet conversation.

“Hello, ladies. You’re all looking quite well tonight,” Ginny addressed the crowd with the sort of smile that warned a few of them but not all of them that they had failed to toe the line. “I notice that you’ve been ignoring all of your handsome and shy classmates who’ve wanted to dance with you all evening in favor of quietly stalking my brother-in-law who I would like to point out is already taken, and wouldn’t dance with you unless his fiance gave it her blessing. Now, stalking an invited escort to the ball in a large group as if you were a pack of hunting hyenas, I should say that might constitute ‘Rude Behavior’ which if it were noted by, say, the Head Girl, would cut short your evening in a most unfortunate manner.”

The girls in the back of the pack were nodding and looking grateful and starting to ease away. The girls in the front were looking somewhat more hateful. One of them sneered, “You’d nark us out to the Head Girl?”

Ginny narrowed her glance only slightly. Now all the other girls visibly separated themselves from the head of the pack. “Perhaps you have no one in your life you’d be willing to defend. I’m sorry for that, for your sake.”

The girls in the back were already turning away. The girls in the front were changing their tune from their initial reaction of solidarity, and three in particular were urging the leader to stand down.

She turned and left after a long moment’s hesitation and Ginny internally sighed. That was the moment she saw the slightest shimmer in the air around her that wasn’t part of the festive and frosty yule decorations.

Ginny turned back to see Viktor right where she’d asked him to wait for her, hands relaxed at his sides and if she wasn’t wrong, casting a wandless, wordless protego around her.

Ginny raised an eyebrow in silent question.

Viktor momentarily quirked an eyebrow in silent answer.

“Thank you,” Ginny quietly said as she took his arm again and they began the long walk across the room to the drinks table. 

“You’re welcome,” Viktor quietly responded. “If you are to defend my honor the least I can do is ensure any jinxes sent your way rebound neatly on their caster. She will not forget that, you know, being called out like that.”

Ginny sighed. “I know. And she’s a sixth year Ravenclaw, so while I don’t have any classes with her, I should probably warn Luna.”

“Mm,” Viktor responded quietly. “If Luna is not engaged and out of her tower by the next semester, I will be very surprised, indeed.”

“Hm,” Ginny considered. “You think he’s ready?”

Viktor made an amusing little gesture involving his head and shoulders. “They will be spending many days in very close quarters.”

“Yes, Narcissa mentioned she was taking you up on your invitation to stay the entire break. And Luna will for all but the last two days she’ll be with her cousins. Do you think that’s purely matchmaking on her part?”

“Mm. Only partly. She is a complicated woman with many different motivations, I think,” he responded and Ginny met his response with silence.

She didn’t actually want to gossip and force speculation on others. Of course she was  _ curious  _ to know if her guess of people’s motivations was correct, but actions spoke louder than words and time would tell with both Luna and Draco, and Narcissa herself. And it wasn’t like she wouldn’t be on hand to observe, when she wasn’t taking a well-deserved break with some interesting reading, some excellent flying, and long, long nights in Harry’s arms.

When they reached the drinks table, Ginny caught his eye and the glance Harry gave her was searing.

Ginny was momentarily breathless and distractedly murmured her thanks to Viktor even as she made a beeline to her husband.

“Hello,” she said quietly, staring into the eyes of a man who was clearly going to be bringing out his inner sexy beast to their bed tonight. She was getting progressively wetter the longer he stared into her eyes.

“Well done over there,” he said mildly, his gaze telling her just how impressed with her he was, and just how he imagined rewarding her.

Unconsciously she wet her lips with her tongue and saw Harry narrow his eyes as he tracked the action.

“Patience is a good thing, right?” she breathed out, coming closer and taking the drink he held out for her even as she wound her arm around his. Even this chaste touch was electric. 

“I wouldn’t know,” he responded, his voice something like a low purr, which made Ginny really just want to ride him until he burst.

She didn’t gasp. She didn’t shake. She leaned in and whispered in his ear. “Later tonight I’m going to remind you of all the promises your eyes have just made on your behalf, but for now, if you don’t rein in the sexy, we’re going to lose our residency and get expelled all in one night.”

He gave her one last long look before he turned them both away and focused on the couple next to them which happened to be Neville and his date.

Ginny took several quiet deep breaths and tried to get her desires under control again, but that was usually a lost cause where Harry was concerned.

Tonight was no different.

* * *

“I wonder if I will ever get to dance with you twice in a row,” Vitkor pointed out, taking a cup of punch that she offered and sipping it to see what it was like. Utter dreck, as it turned out. Sweeter than pumpkin juice and already spiked. He couldn’t taste the alcohol, but he could feel its effects. He’d always been sensitive to it and made a point not to get drunk, particularly after the first three times. Which were also the last three times.

He put the cup down and took hers from her with a little shake of his head. “Come dance with me before the stringed instruments are all put away.”

She did so without complaint.

“You know,” she pointed out, standing as close as one reasonably could and still waltz. “I really have no intention to dance with anyone else, now that that’s all out of the way. So how about I stay in your arms for the rest of the night?” Her words were comforting, but she was swaying a bit more than the dance called for.

“How much punch did you drink, Myon?”

“Mmm, I was _so_ _thirsty_.”

Viktor eyes narrowed slightly as he swore in the privacy of his mind and he danced them over to the side. He guided Hermione to a chair and quietly demanded Mory’s presence.

Mory arrived, giving him a worried look from the outset. “Yes, Master Krum?” 

“I need a pitcher of fresh water from the kitchens, a clean glass, and a phial of Sobering Potion, from Cair Paravel, if necessary. Once we have that, you may wish to change out all the punch here, which is now filled with alcohol.”

“Oooh,” Hermione said, understanding what was going on.

Mory’s eyes darted to Hermione’s and he stared at her for a long moment and then he snapped his fingers and was gone. He was back fifteen seconds later with a tray and a table to put it on. There were two glasses, and a little bowl of fried things, as well as the pitcher and the phial.

“Does Mistress require anything else?”

“One moment,” Viktor said to the elf and handed the phial to Hermione, having taken the cap off first. “It won’t taste good. Don’t breathe. Just drink.”

She did as he advised and winced afterwards and reached for a fried thing.

“If I were Head Girl, there would be detentions for that,” she muttered before popping the fried bit of something into her mouth and pouring herself a large glass of water.

“Well, you are Queen, so there might still be,” Viktor pointed out. To Mory he added, “Make sure the Headmistress knows what happened. I think it was Vodka, and a lot of it. That is all for now. Thank you, Mory.”

The elf disappeared and Viktor pulled up another chair and poured himself half a glass of water, grateful to get the taste out of his mouth. The taste of Vodka wasn’t anything at all, except for the feel of the alcohol. It was the taste of the dreadful punch that lingered in an unfortunate manner. He munched on a fried thing and tried to identify the vegetable involved. Zucchini? Hard to tell underneath all the crunchy batter. Still. It did its job, and absorbed some of the alcohol.

“Thank you, Viktor.”

He looked up with an eyebrow raised.

“You saved my evening, and my reputation, both. Thank you.”

Well, that was interesting. He grinned. “Were you planning on doing something scandalous as you danced with me?”

Hermione blinked and looked around and then her eyes darted back to his. “Er, yes? Maybe? I don’t know if scandalous is the right word, but I might have made a right idiot out of myself. No, maybe scandalous is the right word. I mean, I’ve always been very moderate in my drinking, always paced myself and had plenty of water, you know? I don’t think I’ve ever had that much, that fast. And I feel rather foolish that I didn’t see the signs for myself. I was just suddenly  _ so thirsty _ , and there it was.”

“Shh, Myon.” He put his hand on her knee, as both her hands were around her glass. “It is enough that I realized it in time. You don’t have to do everything yourself, Myon. Now drink.”

She pouted. It was adorable, and Viktor instantly wondered what she wanted.

“But I’ve already drunk so much. And if I drink much more, I’ll have to go to the lavatory and thus be off the dance floor even more, and that’s really where I want to be, with you.”

“Drink,” he insisted. “And I will escort you and wait for you by the door and we will return to the dance floor and not leave again until it is over.”

She did, and he did and the line was heinously long at the first three girl’s lavatories, so they just ended up on the third floor, at which point it was easier for her to duck back into her suite to use the powder room there, and Viktor also availed himself of the facilities attached to the common room. She was out moments later and he took her into his arms and kissed her lips softly at first, but with increasing intensity that left them both slightly breathless.

“See? Already these are good choices. I could not do this on the dance floor, nor outside a common lavatory.”

She grinned up at him. For a long moment they just silently looked at one another.

Viktor gave her one more small, chaste kiss before escorting her back out the door, down the hallway, down three staircases which were all, strangely, behaving, and over to the Great Hall.

There was half a dance to be had before the quintet packed up for the night and Accio Heelstrike took over, but Viktor took it as their due and quietened the small still voice within that was worrying that the punch and her sudden thirst might have been a targeted attack, albeit an obviously half-hearted one if killing her had been the goal.

When the music changed it took him a longer moment than he would have liked to loosen up and just enjoy himself with Myon on the dance floor. But he managed.

There were some couples, he noticed, who were essentially having fully clothed vertical sex on the dance floor, at least until they were separated by the teachers who mingled through the crowds. This was generally not how he danced with Myon, as it would be much more fun later to have vertical or horizontal sex semi-clothed and in private. But every third song was a slow song and for those he pulled her close to him. She laid her forehead against his cheek and pressed her body against his from shoulder to knee with her arms wrapped around his neck and his around the small of her back. The diamonds in her hair were always cold against his skin at first, but he loved the scent of her hair, the feel of her body tight to his.

Mostly they did not speak, and Viktor was fine with this. Their bodies spoke for their hearts well enough, and even in the slow songs it was incredibly loud. To speak would be to shout and there was nothing he wanted to say to Myon that he wanted others to potentially overhear.

When the last song was announced and a general cry of disappointment went up from the ranks, Hermione only smiled up into his eyes and he took one of her hands and kissed the back of it and placed it very firmly over his heart and he drew her close.

It was a bittersweet song, that he could tell from the tone of the singer, not that he could parse what they were actually saying. It had been a beautiful evening with only a few dark clouds that were quickly dispersed, but the bittersweet nature of the song brought back to Viktor his concerns about Hermione’s thirst and the spiked punch. A single glass as anyone might have taken would hardly have hurt her, but several might have gotten her quite drunk without his intervention. And with a compulsion to drink, without intervention she might have gotten quite drunk indeed, and possibly done herself an injury.

The dance finished before his dark thoughts did.

“Shall we walk in the rose garden?” she asked and he did his best to release his concerns for the moment as he offered her his arm and they walked out of the Great Hall amongst the crowds that were milling about.

A few warming spells over the both of them as they finally stepped outside, but that was almost done without thinking, now.

“You seem very quiet,” she pointed out once they were among the flowers that were neither that interesting nor that impressive and which were really only growing half-heartedly, which admittedly he had noticed the last time he visited, years ago.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I suppose I have many things on my mind,” he said. It was all he really could, in public and she didn’t press him on it. He avoided a corner occupied by a couple desperate to have a rather important five minutes of utter privacy, which they were not going to have, as there was a teacher quietly trailing Viktor, but then it was interesting that the couple were ignored by that teacher. Viktor turned them down a path and was able to casually note which teacher it was. The short one. Luna’s head of house, he thought, the Charms Master. And he was clearly  _ following _ them.

Hadn’t Hermione mentioned he was a past dueling champion?

Viktor sighed.

It had been an attack on Hermione, then.

Well, this was proof, at least, that the adults and responsible parties at Hogwarts were, in fact, managing security. While a new trend, it was certainly a welcome one.

“How do you feel, Myon?” he asked, knowing he was within earshot of the professor behind them. “Any lingering effects?”

“Oh, no, I feel fine now. Truly. Thank you for acting so quickly. I appreciate the care you take of me, Viktor.”

Well, he certainly wasn’t going to tell her here, nor now, but if he didn’t mention it before the evening was through, she might be rightfully angry he’d withheld the information. And, of course, to continue to purposefully do so would violate the trust they had with one another.

Ah, but it would all go to hell, her sense of growing safety.

_ Fuck. _

So much for sex tonight.

_ Fuck. _


	42. Chapter 34, Part 3: Wherein there is a Ball.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And we conclude our evening.

Something was clearly bothering Viktor, and despite the beauty of the evening and the cool, crisp air with the clear view of so many stars, and in fact, the Milky Way, Hermione had the distinct feeling that it was totally lost on him.

Harry and Ginny had retired early and by now Luna and Draco had either parted ways or were having a much-needed heart-to-heart in her study. Hermione idly hoped Neville had had an alright time. He didn’t seem that into Miranda, though she was pretty enough. She was also a bit dim, and Hermione privately thought Neville could do much better.

“Shall we go inside?” Hermione asked, really wanting to say something like, ‘let’s go to bed,’ but there were still people visibly about, to say nothing of trying desperately to have a shag in a thornbush, which might be its own punishment.

Miraculously, Hermione’s feet did not hurt. By all rights they ought to have after an evening dancing in heels, but that, she supposed, was the joy of the feather light soles. She idly contemplated sprinting back to the front entrance with Viktor just to see how the heels did with that, but decided that it probably wouldn’t improve his mood.

Then again, sprinting down a stone corridor would be a much more effective test.

Once they got to the third floor, she suggested it, but Viktor shot her down, his features stern and foreboding. They were largely alone, with the exception of the portraits, but still she refrained from asking him what the hell was wrong with him tonight. There had been moments when he’d seemed quite happy to be there, moments when he seemed totally distracted, and moments when he seemed so melancholy her heart hurt to look at him.

She was still quiet when they were inside the common room of the suite, and quiet until her bedroom door shut behind them. She walked directly to her dressing table and sat down, beginning to take off bits and pieces of the sparkly stuff she was wearing.

“So,” she began calmly. “What’s going on, Viktor? What couldn’t you tell me until now?”

She saw him approach in the mirror and felt the heavy weight of his hands on her shoulders. The grave look in his eyes made her pause and put her hands in her lap.

“Tonight someone spiked the punch with quite a lot of extremely strong Vodka, and put a compulsion spell on you to drink. The spell was gone by the time you were drinking water, because you easily resisted the urge to drink until I reasoned with you.”

Hermione raised one eyebrow and thought about it. Yes, yes, that did make sense. She rolled her eyes. “Idiots,” she said, and then continued taking off her signet rings.

“Myon, the Headmistress clearly took this very seriously. She sent a professor to follow us when we were in the rose garden.”

Hermione met his sad and worried eyes again, but didn’t stop taking off her jewelry. The locket was next. “Good,” she said, the full weight of her opinion in her tone, but then decided to elaborate. “She should. Happened right under her nose.”

“Myon, I think you are perhaps not taking this seriously.”

Hermione sighed, stopped what she was doing and looked her beautiful man in the eye again. “Viktor, in no way do I want to diminish what you’ve done for me this evening. You noticed something was wrong. You solved the problem for me and you did it calmly and with great panache, if I may say. It was quite impressive. Having said that, I will also point out that this was a student prank. Yes, it was aimed at me and probably got a lot of other students tipsy, or outright drunk. It was stupid and irresponsible, and for my part I should probably find it immediately suspect if I’m ravenously hungry or thirsty when it doesn’t really make sense that I should be. I’ll grant you that. A bit more caution would be a good idea on my part.

“And, total honesty here, I wasn’t in mortal danger. Yes, I might have been right ill, but I wouldn’t have died immediately, nor been kidnapped, nor tortured, nor had anyone I love dead, kidnapped, or tortured, and it is perhaps sad that at this point in my life that is the bar dangers have to meet for me to get worked up about them, but there it is. I hope they get detention, but that’s really about the utter irresponsibility for targeting one person and having so much collateral damage. Totally irresponsible. If you’re going to prank, prank effeciently.”

And then Hermione finished taking her jewelry off. The tiara, somewhat embedded in her hairstyle, was quite tricky. She kept her engagement ring on, however, as was her wont. When she got up from her dressing table she turned around to find Viktor sitting on the edge of the chaise lounge, in his tuxedo, with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. Her sigh was silent and mostly inward. She knelt down before him on the fluffy white carpet and made herself comfortable, sitting back on the most amazing heels in the world. When he didn’t move, she took the cuff of his trousers between two fingers and tugged twice.

Viktor groaned, but he still didn’t move.

“It dawns on me,” she said quietly, “that the only time you really saw me in danger, or something approximating it, was when you rescued me from the lake. And you’ve heard about all the other things, at least… yes, yes, I believe I’ve told you about all of them by now, at least in a summary fashion. And back then you didn’t know Gelwyn wouldn’t have hurt any of us - none of us did - but there I was, waiting to be rescued, and you did. And there were a lot of other times that were far worse, when I was in genuine danger, and while you’ve heard about some of those… you weren’t there. And this was the first time someone wanted to do me some measure of harm while I was in your presence. And you rescued me again. But now it’s time to put it in perspective.

“It was Vodka, not a potion, not a poison. Vodka.”

Viktor took his hands away from his face long enough for her to see the red rims of his eyes. He snorted quietly, looking down at her as she sat back on her heels. “A prank. A student prank.” His gaze hardened. “And I want to kill them.”

Hermione took a deep breath and sat up so she was kneeling upright now, and much closer to his face. “I admire your protective instinct, and I would like to humbly and gently remind you that you are not actually allowed to kill people for being offensive idiots. If that were the case, half the world would be dead, including me. I’ve had my moments.”

It was meant to be a bit of a joke, but it fell flat. It was just as well she didn’t expect laughter.  _ Well, it was clearly not the time for humor. _

His head was back in his hands.

After a long while there was a humorless huff of something like laughter, and the hands came down slightly. He looked miserably unhappy and it broke Hermione’s heart.

“You know, I was so worried this would upset you, make you feel unsafe, and I was so torn Myon. I did not want to tell you. I did not want to keep it from you. And in the end, you don’t care, and it is I who am upset, and torn.”

“No, no, no, no, no, no. I’m so glad you told me. I am, Viktor, and I do care. And I’m sorry you were so uncertain. Please know that I will always want to know, when it’s the right time to tell me, and I do think back here in our bedroom was a fine time to do it. 

“I’m glad to know, and I do care. It’s just that I don’t want to kill them over it, and I don’t want to let a student prank that  _ you saved me from _ ruin my night. I mean, you’ve seen me. I’m perfectly capable of getting triggered and losing my shit when I think my life might actually be in danger, or the lives of people I love. And in that way, I understand why you didn’t want to bring me into such a bleak and horrible moment.

“And the good news here, is that I think I’m having a very reasonable response to being targeted for annoyance, but  _ not  _ mortal peril. And you’re having a very reasonable response for having to witness for the first time someone targeting me for any reason.”

Viktor reached out and cupped her cheek with one hand, a single tear running down his face. “I hate that your bar for concern is so high. You really  _ do _ have to be in mortal danger to pay attention to your surroundings.”

Hermione lifted one shoulder in a shrug and crooked her lips in a half grin that was more wry than anything else. “It is what it is. I did warn you I was broken.”

“Stop saying that,” he bit out harshly, his face contorted in anger though his hand was still soft against the side of her face.  _ “You are not broken.”  _

Hermione sighed and sat back on her heels again, effectively taking herself out of easy arm’s reach.

“Look, it seems I have two settings these days. Oblivious and Constant Vigilance. Now, this may change and I may find some sort of middle ground, but for now, it’s what I’ve got to work with. Having said that, I don’t think either one of us wants me to shift right now from Oblivious to Constant Vigilance, and quite frankly I don’t think it’s warranted.

Calmer, face back in hands, Viktor spoke, his voice somewhat muffled but still audible. “No, I can see the reasoning. You are having a reasonable response. I am consumed by rage.”

Hermione blinked and took a deep breath. That wasn’t exactly the point she was trying to make, but now that she thought about it, it did seem quite true.

“What do you need? How can I help you?” she asked gently.

He sighed. “I need to run. And faster than you can go.” His hands came down entirely and he held them out to her.

Hermione took his hands in hers and squeezed them slightly. “Then go change and go for a run, Viktor. Do what you need to do to take care of yourself. Have Tona take you back to your hotel so you can avoid the star-crossed lovers in my study. I’ll have a little something to eat for you when you get back, if you’re hungry.”

“No, you should sleep. Don’t wait for me to act like a reasonable and sane adult. It may take a while.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “No,” she said firmly and clearly. “I may not be able to run as fast as you, and so I’m unable to come with you and support you in that way. But there’s no way in hell I’m just going to go to bed like nothing happened while you’re in pain. No. And if you need to go for a swim, do it. I’ll be here, waiting. Not angrily. Not impatiently. Think of it more like… keeping a vigil. A vigil for the return of sane, calm, reasonable Viktor.”

He squeezed her hands and stood up, then assisted her in the same.

“Thank you,” he breathed out. “You look so beautiful tonight, Myon. And I was so hoping, I think we were  _ both _ hoping that tonight would have a very different kind of ending than last time. And yet one of us is still in pain and running away, leaving the other to return to bed, alone.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow yet again. “You could look at it that way. I am telling myself a different story. I’m counting the number of songs I’ve danced with you. Eighteen and three quarters. Last time was six. I’m counting the number of times we’ve stolen kisses from what otherwise might be a very chaste and public evening. Seven. Last time was zero. I’m counting the number of pictures taken which will inevitably reveal how much I am in love with you, and how much you are in love with me. Two. Last time was zero. I’m counting the number of times you’ve held my hand, or kissed my hand, or taken my hand and placed it on your arm, or around your neck, or on your heart. Forty-three. Last time was twelve. The number of walks through a rose garden. One. Last time, zero. The number of slow songs danced with you. Five. Last time, one. The number of times someone could have made me cry but didn’t because you intervened. One. Last time, zero. And the night hasn’t ended yet. And I’m not going to bed alone, Viktor. You’re going to take care of yourself and do what you need to do to be calm again, and I want you to do this. 

“So come straight back to me. I don’t care if you’re sweaty or smelling of the sea. Come back and end the night in my arms. Already this night is so much better than the last one, and when you return to me, calm if exhausted, it will be perfect, no matter what happens in that bed.”

Viktor leaned down, still just holding her hands, and kissed her lips. Quickly he deepened the kiss, his mouth slashing across hers, his tongue seeking out hers. Hermione moaned, feeling the kiss, somehow, all the way across her shoulders, down to her toes and back up to throb in the general region of her clit.

She tore herself away and knew her eyes were somewhat glazed over.  _ Eight, _ she thought. “Go,” she said, “and come back quickly.”

He did, and she had meant every word as she had said them, but somehow the kiss had made her impatient and Hermione found she had to calm her breathing and dash away tears before even thinking of summoning Pampy, and before she did that, she washed her face of the makeup and the tears, though she decided to keep her hair more or less in the exquisite state Ginny had gotten it into until Viktor came back, or really, until the morning when she’d throw it all back in a ponytail before she went running.

Hermione moved the early Christmas gift she had prepared for Viktor and left on their bed and put it instead on her dressing table. She had created a set of charmed boxes to exchange mail for Viktor and his parents to make it easier for them to stay in close contact, the same sort of thing she had, but with fewer security charms.

She put in her order with her house elf and then separated out her gorgeous Hebridean Black clutch of its contents, pulling her wand and putting it on her dressing table, and then pulling out the thin, slim cloth bag that was her new go-to. It wasn’t much to look at, but it fit in everything, and she had done just as Ginny had suggested. She put a few snaps on the outside of the charmed bag, tiny things and not anything that would interfere with the lip-widening charms. If security was an issue, she’d only attached one snap, or none at all and let the small bag fall to the bottom of the only slightly enlarged lining of her clutch. But if security wasn’t an issue, she’d attached both front and back snaps and so every time she opened the clutch, the inner bag would be held open and fill roughly one-third of the area - more than enough to easily access anything she needed to.

Hermione decided not to change out of her dress and heels, but she did pull on a cardigan over her dress to stay warm. She pulled the chaise up toward the fire and brought out her sewing basket, her wand, and her stash of four other dragonhide purses. First, basic extension charms and lip-widening charms on each lining. Just about two cubic feet each, not much at all, really, but she did add a fragile float charm, and the soft stack. That done, and before she sealed each piece, she got out her needle and thread and very carefully sewed in the inner snaps, and then she quickly knit four more little holsters that fit very specifically around the end of  _ her _ wand. Hermione sewed up the holsters, and then affixed them very firmly to the inside of the opposite end of the clutches. Then she put in a sticking charm to both the holsters and the snaps, and  _ then  _ she sealed each piece, thoroughly pleased with her work.

Now, the question was, did she want to experiment? If Viktor took a hard run for a half hour, though maybe more, with a bit of cool down, and then he went for a rather bracing swim, including time for changing, he might be gone for a whole hour. But maybe if he spent some time in a hard run and some endurance time, he could be gone for two hours.

She  _ might  _ have time, and it wouldn’t be the end of the world if her project lay half finished.

She grinned. It was time to experiment on her trunk.

Hermione pulled the appropriate book out of her carry-all,  _ All The Space You Need,  _ and wondered if she could actually manage to create a sort of set of emergency guest rooms that could be quite useful, say, in visiting her parents if, for instance, they had children, or perhaps others joined them in the trip.

She would build in rooms for powder rooms in each suite, but all that would be necessary for that could be added later, after the piece itself was sealed. Besides, she’d need to practice that.

First, she built the Security Check setting and created the interior of a very standard trunk with rather pretty lining paper. Two smaller trays side-by-each could be removed and then a larger tray underneath removed to find the main body of the trunk. Just because she could, she built in a secret compartment that was only three-quarters of an inch deep and she’d have to think of what she wanted to store in there as a treat for a really dedicated non-magical customs official to find, should she ever travel with her trunk, which was unlikely, but amusing to consider. Perhaps lingerie. Or extremely thin sex toys? Condoms! Definitely condoms.

Then she built the general extension charms of the interior. She decided on a dozen suites with one large common room, and then four smaller common rooms off it, with three bedrooms off each smaller room. Perhaps just one or two bedroom suites would do, but she might as well do a boutique hotel while she was at it.

As she went she built in so many air-freshening charms in per cubic feet, but before she did most of it, and after practicing several times, she followed the forty-two steps of the process to build an unfolding staircase down that utilized an entire side of the trunk, pulling it out and down away from the rest and creating really quite a comfortable stairway that broadened as you went down. As an afterthought she also built in sturdy handrails off to the side.

After each small project, for added durability and stability, Hermione also wove in runes that were perhaps a bit overkill, but certainly would keep the entire project from collapsing inward for the next thousand years or so.

Hermione had not at all decided whether or not she would transfigure furniture or obtain it the old fashioned way, but it wasn’t a decision she had to make just now. The question that plagued her mind at present, as she sat in the center of the large common room, little bluebell lights in all the dozen mason jars she’d taken from home all ringed around her, was how exactly she would decorate all the different rooms. Sure, she could just do wallpaper and wainscoting, but that lacked something. Really, what she was quite tempted to do was something else  _ entirely. _

She would need to do a lot of reading. She would need to rewatch a  _ lot  _ of movies. But she’d read enough to go on to make the larger common room what she wanted it to be, at least the bones of the structure, and so Hermione pulled out several books and got to work.

* * *

Viktor had spent the first twenty minutes plotting murder. He’d spent the next twenty minutes wracked with guilt. And he’d run until all the guilt was gone. Then, as advised, he went for a swim that seemed to cleanse everything away, or perhaps that was just the frigidly cold water. When Tona brought him back, having visited Black Cottage for the first time and memorizing it’s location, Viktor immediately saw the promised food waiting for him on the side table next to the chaise, but not immediately the promised fiance waiting for him. He did, however, see her trunk, pulled to the center of the room, lid open and  _ front side pulled down to the floor,  _ and a stairway leading down into a very brightly lit interior that was clearly larger than the original trunk.

Hermione had never mentioned she had an expandable trunk to this extent, but then she might not have thought to mention it. He wondered if she had a laboratory down there or something.

He ended the stasis charm on the food and combined the contents of three sandwiches together into one, half wrapped it in a napkin for stability, and took it downstairs as he started eating it.

Viktor walked into… a beach. The staircase led down to a boardwalk from which one might continue on to various larger empty areas of the boardwalk and so onto four arched doorways with hanging curtains over them, or step off the boardwalk and onto the sand and eventually to the water...

Which was where Hermione was. On a padded lounge chair, in the shade of an umbrella - for there was a sun on this beach, oh yes - her chair so close to the water she had the tips of her toes in it, her shoes having been discarded on the other side of the chair. She was reading. 

Viktor kicked off his running shoes and pulled of his socks, stuffing them inside before he left the boardwalk and made for the empty chair next to hers - it was the only other chair on the sand or the boardwalk, though he imagined that would not be the case forever for the room had a distinctly unfinished feel about it, plus the feel of quite a volume of newly cast magic.

Which meant this is what she had done while he had calmed down.

“Good evening, beautiful,” he murmured as he sat down and leaned back, slicking his wet hair back with one hand and taking a bite of the sandwich in the other as he relaxed into the quite comfortable chair she had made.

She looked up at him and he saw it in her eyes, the moment of adjustment she always had to make from her reading to the rest of the world around her. He couldn’t help but think she needed protecting, as oblivious as she could get sometimes, when she wasn’t switched over into the fabled Warrior Nemesis mode.

“You look much better. How do you feel?” she asked, putting her book away into a small, plain, linen sack.

He grinned and assured her he was well now, and then complimented her on the work she had clearly done this evening and let her enthusiasm for the project wash over him for a moment as she explained all that she wanted to do, and why she wanted to do it.

Viktor ate his sandwich and listened to Hermione, with the sound of the surf in the background, and while the scents of the scene weren’t quite right, it was impressive work for so short a time and it was totally relaxing.

After the little nightmare that was his evening, it was  _ totally relaxing. _

Viktor woke in a darkened room, in a reasonably comfortable bed, with Hermione snuggled up against his side. It took his brain a moment to adjust and in his initially sleepy state he thought that she had crept into his bed on a visit to Bulgaria. He could smell the roses. 

He shifted and rolled and nudged her to do the same and then went back to sleep, his arm around her waist, her hips nestled up to his, his legs folded beneath hers.

Hermione made exactly two happy sighing sounds before she, too, was deeply asleep once more.

* * *

Draco’s evening had not been quite the nightmare he’d anticipated. There were some dirty looks, but that was nothing new at this school for him. It was possible he might end up having a cordial relationship with a Head of Hogwarts, which wasn’t anything he’d ever anticipated occurring, despite the fact that his mother seemed to manage it. His father certainly never had.

And his companion was… charming. Delightful, really. She was sweet, funny, and kind, so deeply kind that she seemed like a strange and exotic creature to him, something straight out of the annals of Newt Scamander, author and adventurer.

She had called for refreshments and taken the royal circlet off her head and put it on… well, well, the Pendragon Monarch’s  _ Round Table,  _ and when he arched an eyebrow ever so slightly toward her, she grinned.

“It was fun to play at being a princess for an evening, but I’m sure it will look better on Viktor than it does on me. I don’t think Hermione realized the implications when she suggested it, and it does fit my coloring well, but I also don’t think anyone was confused and imagined I was in a menage trois with Hermione and Viktor.”

Draco suppressed the smirk and let his mind dwell on the more important concern. Did she always know what he was thinking?

Luna’s grin turned impish and her eyes flashed for a brief moment.

_ You do, don’t you? You’re something beyond a legilimens, aren’t you?  _

Luna laughed and took his hand, leading him to a wide, comfortable looking couch. “Will you sit with me, Lord Malfoy?”

She hadn’t answered his question, and he was fairly certain she heard it perfectly well. Still, he acquiesced and decided that perhaps, perhaps it would be acceptable to invite greater informality.

“Call me Draco,” he said simply, following her and sitting down.

She slipped off her shoes and folded up her legs beneath her as she sat. “And will you call me Luna?”

She had the loveliest clear blue eyes. He wondered how he’d not really noticed until now.

“If you like,” he agreed mildly.

Her eyes widened like a flash of thunder and then it was gone as she spoke. “Oh, I like.”

Well.  _ Well.  _ Her tone was something he would definitely be taking with him to bed tonight, whenever it was he made it there.

Happily, tea arrived shortly, complete with sweets and savories all laid out in a rather beautiful fashion that he did not immediately associate with Hogwarts, but then, it was one of Hermione’s Black Family Elves that Luna had been given access to, wasn’t it? Not that he knew them well.

His father had ever resented how established Mother’s family was, the Malfoys having only been resident in England for two hundred years or so. The Blacks went back to the time of the Pendragons, and while in general they would never  _ tell  _ you so, they were happy to  _ imply you should have always known.  _ Hence the style  _ Ancient and Most Noble  _ though of course Ancient was supposed to only be used for houses who had died out and been reborn again. Like Pendragon. Which perhaps they had been, long ago. It would explain the mania for marrying first and second cousins that his mother had blessedly  _ not  _ participated in.

Where there any houses, Draco had always wondered, who were  _ Slightly Noble  _ or just plain  _ Noble?  _

Well, he supposed Black was  _ Most Noble  _ now, if ever there had been doubt before.

And now he was finally going to have Black in his name. His father might be rolling over in his grave. 

Well, he was considering marrying a thoroughly kind and guileless woman. That would have set Lucius off on a tirade as well, and not one that would have done him credit.

Draco sipped his tea, happy to have something to do with his hands as Luna nibbled a sandwich.

“Many things have been said around this fire,” she said quietly. “They always stay here, you know? Not that they are terrible secrets or dreadful deeds. But we all need a safe space to say what’s real for us, even if it’s painful, or shameful, or frightening. We all need a place to be utterly honest. And sometimes that place is a person. I think that’s what Hermione treasures most about Viktor. He’s been that person for her, for years. And if you can imagine that I could ever be that person for you, then I’ll wait as long as you need, Draco. And if you can’t, I should probably move on, and free up your time.”

Emotionally, he was clutching his teacup. Physically, he was holding it gently, properly, and with nothing obviously amiss. He met her eyes for a long moment and wished he could read her as well as she could read him. All his lessons were for naught, with her. And if she already knew his answer, then why make him say it?

How utterly bizarre and forthright she was.

Fine. He would say it. He could say it. And how could it be any different, really, thinking it to saying it?

And still the words were hard to come by. His stomach bottomed out. He took a quiet, unobtrusive breath as large as he could manage.

“I think you already are.”

Her smile was like a moonlit night under a field of stars, something quiet and beautiful. Something full of hope and promise and things unspoken, unnamed.

Something that, Draco considered, very well might herald the dawn.

* * *

Minerva, the moment Severus was gone without notification for 24 hours, and thus had officially abandoned his post, the very  _ minute _ the Castle recognized her as Head, had put her hand to the nearest stone wall and clearly thought in her mind,  _ What do I need to know? _

And just as Albus had once admitted, the answer was simply there in her mind. 

_ Three things. You are good. So was he. Read this. _

And at her feet appeared a thick tome. It was leatherbound and had no external markings. She had read it cover-to-cover, and then twice more, taking notes the second and third times through. When she had shut it for the last time and said thank you, it disappeared again.

It was not often that life provided one with a user’s manual, but Minerva made the best of it. 

Immediately she did the spell to summon the Head’s ring, only to find that Severus had left it in a drawer of the desk. Had he known it was a portkey? Tom Riddle clearly didn’t.

One more piece of evidence that he was still on their side to add to the tiny pile of such things.

Secondarily she summoned the Head Elf of Hogwarts and interrogated her as to the orders Severus had given her in the year. The responses brought tears to the witch’s eyes.

As a third measure she saw to the wards as best as could be done. So many things could only be changed about the castle at the solstices and equinoxes, or with the consent of the Head Elf, but a few things could happen at any time, and wards could always be  _ strengthened,  _ even if they could not be much altered, at first.

And now on the second solstice since that day, she finally had the luxury of time and the necessary nature of a request from Hermione.

“Right, then.”

Minerva put her hand on the wall and closed her eyes.  _ I should like Phillys Phorthrent and Albus Dumbledore’s frames moved up to the top row, and Helga Hufflepuff and the Pendragon Castle frames moved down. _

But only Phillys and Helga’s frames switched places. And all the rest who were in frame were in the midst of some arcane debate in four languages that she couldn’t care less about, and they could not be interrupted. 

Damn it. Had Albus cast some sort of sticking charm on his frame? Crafty old bastard.

No, no, that was unlikely.  _ Think, Minerva. Think. _

_ Please index the empty portrait frames in this room. _

And then the list was there in her mind. Some familiar names from various centuries… and yes. Maria Pendragon. Why would a portrait of the last queen be in with the headmasters and headmistresses?

_ Please switch the portrait frames of Albus Dumbledore and Maria Pendragon. _

And it was done. Albus, should he ever show up again, was consigned to the darkness and silence of the topmost rows, and in his place there was an Anglo-Saxon painting of the Curtain Tower and a corner of the New Palace, with the Enclosure walls rising up behind.

Minerva, filled with curiosity, fetched her Latin dictionary and Latin grammar and set about laboriously writing a short note to stick in both frames, and then a slightly longer one for someone else, in English.

But really it was just the beginning of the work she needed to do before the sun rose. That she would be at it all night was not a concern. She’d been getting ready for the solstice work since the equinox and her only concern was that she might actually not have enough time to do  _ everything. _

Still. She wrote the notes, and the Latin had come back to her quite easily, once she got into it. And then Minerva moved on to the wards. It was time to return them to their  _ original  _ state, and wouldn’t that have made a bloody big difference in the war?

* * *

_ Greetings from the Head.   
_ _ Your presence is requested.   
_ _ Translation will be required.   
_ _ Latin is no longer the common tongue. _

* * *

_ December 22, 199_  
_ _ Office of the Head _

_ Your Majesty, _

_ On behalf of Hogwarts I would like to commission a portrait of you before you graduate. If you agree, all other details would be at your pleasure, but I would like to take the opportunity afforded me and immortalize the Queen as a Student when Your Majesty is, in fact, both. As there is already a picture in my office of your ancestor Maria, there is precedent and I am seizing it with both hands. _

_ At your service,  
_ _ MM _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we have it! The Yule Ball.
> 
> And if you like that sort of thing, I would direct you to the comments on Chapter 37 in particular, where I have included a short dialogue-only bonus scene in one of my responses. This is the sort of thing I do. If you're not reading the comments thread, you're missing half the fun.
> 
> This bonus scene was inspired by the reader kbt01. Thanks, kbt01! (Always reminds me of a stormtrooper call-sign, that.)


	43. Chapter 35: Wherein the simple becomes complicated.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor and Hermione move into Cair Paravel and welcome some holiday guests.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes the plot twists shock me, and I'm writing the thing. And then there I am, watching the sunrise, huddled in my writing nook with coffee, snorffling to myself, having way more fun than anyone has the right to have at five in the morning.

Viktor called his elf, Tona, once he was entirely packed. One trunk of all the standard things, one trunk of non standard things, three broom cases, and a cello case. The elf was very young and Viktor had already discovered that his training to be a personal elf had only gone so far and he was not nearly as prepared for it as Hermione’s own elves were. Still, Viktor could work with this, and was patient by nature, so he carefully explained what might be unpacked and what was to be left alone for now and simply left in a corner of the master suite he would share with Hermione. The books were to go on the third floor, in the bookshelves near the desk nearest the lake, and the large leather case on top of the desk, the staff and its stand next to the desk, the weights and training equipment to go in the empty room in Concordia next to the steam room. 

When Tona asked if Viktor wanted dinner when he arrived, he gave his order and told the elf to have it ready on his desk on the third floor as close to ninety minutes from the present time as possible.

The elf disappeared and with him, all of Viktor’s worldly belongings. He checked his hotel room once more for any forgotten item and then left the room to go sign the paperwork for check out. He shook hands and signed autographs there with all the employees he had come to be on nodding terms with.

When he stepped out of the floo in Wales, it was perhaps a bit surreal. He was here two or three hours before Hermione would be. He had planned to take the time to set up his weight room, his desk, and his portion of the library, at least until such time as they rearranged under one system of organization, which might be a while.

It was particularly surreal when Mory greeted him moments after he stepped out of the floo.

“Good evening, Master Krum. Welcome home.”

Viktor smiled at the old elf, whom he had come to like quite a bit. “Good evening, Mory. How is everyone settling in?”

“Well, well. Everyone is shocked and complaining, as if they weren’t aware of how filled the lake was with grindelows, how the redcaps have overrun the forest, and how small the quarters are in The Curtain. As if they hadn’t seen it all, every year, for as long as we all have lived.” The old elf grinned and shrugged.

“Have they not realized they can enlarge their quarters?” Viktor asked, for the moment putting to one side the redcaps and the grindelows, though certainly he would think twice about flying through these forests alone, or suggesting a midnight swim with Hermione in the lake, at least not until well past their winter vacation.

Mory grinned wider, and then shook his head. “Silly, aren’t they?” the elf whispered.

“Indeed,” Viktor agreed.

“Has Master Krum everything needed?”

“Yes, thank you, Mory. I’ll work in Concordia and on the third floor until Hermione arrives. Is there a chime on the floo that can be heard up there?”

“No, Master Krum, because of the silencing spells.”

Viktor nodded and considered his options. “Please send someone to alert me the moment the floo is in use, and please arrange to have a little midnight snack for us in our sitting room, with some decaffeinated tea.”

Mory bowed and disappeared and Viktor decided to go out to his new weight room in Concordia first of all. He’d considered just having the rearrangement of his weights and various equipment _be_ part of his morning workout, but it wouldn’t be well balanced, and he knew it. As he went, he admired the fabric walls. They seemed to have a beautiful drape, and it was as if almost they moved slightly in the wind, and truly if one pushed in an area that wasn’t a doorway, there was the tiniest amount of give, and then it became progressively more like hardwood beneath the hand, soft, but somehow also quite firm.

The first room past the steam room on the corner would be his weight studio, and when Viktor entered through the drapery doorway he paused to consider how and where he wanted things only briefly before taking a deep breath and moving the heaviest items with one arm raised out, hand splayed. Free weights and bench in one corner. Hand weights in another corner, with medicine balls. Freestanding Swedish Stahl Bars and various associated paraphernalia off to one side. Mats in the center. Broom rack in another corner, with a small table with tools for maintenance in drawers beneath. Case with practice snitches beneath the table.

One corner he left empty, for Hermione’s chair.

Satisfied with his progress, he went into the central garden and plucked a single citrus blossom. It was beautifully fragrant and perfectly lovely. He placed it reverently down in Hermione’s corner and pictured very clearly the highly stylized and oversized flower blossom-like chair he wanted to transfigure it into, while maintaining the fragrance if he could. It took him three times, but on the third it was _perfect_ and he sealed it with a pair of ancient runes for durability and longevity. It wouldn’t last forever. But it would last nearly forever. He touched the fabric of the chair and was pleased that the particular petal-softness of it carried over. He sat in it and then half-reclined backwards and grinned. Yes, there would be plenty of room for Hermione to ride him as he sat here, and the arms of the chair were stylized petals, splaying outwards and curving back, almost like the petals of a lily and would be excellent for helping to maintain various positions during sex, or so he imagined. Vividly. But briefly.

A little smile tugging at his face, Viktor went back into the Curtain and took the stairs two at a time and went into his bedroom suite at the top of the grand staircase.

_Their suite._ Officially titled, the Monarch of Avalon Suite, it was significantly enlarged since Mory had realized it was the one Hermione and Viktor had chosen, and would share. Everything in it was larger, since what he had seen for himself for the first time in September. The bathtub, the bed, the washroom, the sitting room, the bedroom itself, all larger. 

Viktor himself had chosen to rearrange some of the tapestries as they had been originally hung by Grims - he didn’t want any moving tapestries in his suite - and he brought in various furs and pelts that were meant to be rugs and had arranged them about in their suite, and the other eight large suites, which would belong to the Monarch of the Isles, the Prince of Wales, and family. 

As he gazed around his suite he shook his head. Viktor still wasn’t used to the luxury of such expansive space. His family was wealthy and he was the only child and until recently, the heir, and yet his personal space at home - _in his parents’ home -_ was nothing like this.

Viktor brought his cello into their sitting room and unpacked it, putting the case in a corner. He unpacked his music stand and pulled some of the music he was still learning. He might, at some point, move the cello to one of the more public salons, or possibly in one of the music rooms of Concordia, but for now with so many people in residence, he was content to practice in private. Back in the main room and through to the dressing room, he rearranged boxes he was not yet prepared to unpack and put a single red empassionata on Hermione’s dressing table next to the leather boxes that held the crown and the torc.

He bent and kissed the rose before taking himself up two more flights of stairs to the massive workroom that housed the castle’s private library, potions labs, personal studies, and private floo. Viktor had considered taking the secret door, but had decided, in general, to reserve it for need rather than convenience.

He unpacked his desk, first, taking the mostly shrunken objects out of his leather desk case and putting them where they needed to be, enlarging them as he went. Certain things weren’t shrinkable, of course. Hellion, his little Chinese Fireball, couldn’t be shrunk and had managed to shred and make a little nest out of what Viktor hoped hadn’t been an important paper. Suddenly he was quite grateful that he kept Hermione’s letters in a separate box, which he pulled out, enlarged, and put Hellion and his nest on top of.

“Guard that,” he said.

The crystal vase Mama had given him stood in a corner of his desk with the still dried Concordia waiting inside. Possibly he should have fully unpacked these earlier. He could have used Concordia’s peace mid-November in particular, but he had been quite stupid about it. He removed the flowers after only a moment’s hesitation and called out, “I need an elf.”

One popped in, though not one he recognized. “Yes, Master Krum?”

Viktor handed the vase to the elf. “Please fill this half full with water, and please see to it that it gets fresh water each day.”

The elf was gone and in a moment back again with the vase half full of water.

“What is your name?” Viktor asked.

“Tora, Master Krum.”

“Thank you, Tora. If it is out of your way to do this daily, hand off the duty to another.”

“Yes, Master Krum.” After that the elf was gone, and soon the area of Viktor’s study was filled with the calming fragrance of Concordia. Thirty white concordia, and two each of the yellow, peach, and lavender for a full three dozen. It was a beautiful display and Viktor arranged it just so that it would be pleasing to look at from any angle.

Soon enough the desk was finished and he shifted his attention to the bookshelves. The books were randomly placed, but all present and accounted for. He crossed his arms and stared at the shelves for a long moment, thinking about how he wanted to arrange things by subject, then by level of difficulty, then by author, and how much shelf space each subject would likely need. As some of the texts didn’t respond well to having magic used on them, he took them all out by hand and put them into stacks on the floor, and then started reorganizing from there. Half through the process and feeling very satisfied with himself, he paused to eat and shifted over to the sitting area around the fireplace directly adjacent to his study. The magical room dividers did their jobs admirably well, which was unfortunate in this case as he couldn’t at all smell the roses. He would have to write a quick note to his parents and ask them to bring many more concordia, because this was not acceptable in the least.

Still, the steak was good and the vegetables perfectly cooked and after he was finished with his dinner and his note to his parents, he went back to work on his bookshelves. When he was entirely done with the project, he stowed his leather desk case on an empty bottom shelf and added a postscript to the letter to his parents before putting it in the mailbox Hermione had so thoughtfully given him this morning, one of a set that connected with a box his parents now had.

So now, Viktor was largely unpacked. There were still the two boxes he was leaving until later. One was filled with Christmas presents he had obtained for people, one was filled with presents he had been given and had firmly promised not to open until he and Hermione had married.

Viktor pulled out three reference books from his newly organized shelves and a slim journal he had been using to make extensive notes on Gelwyn’s blood magic ritual for the Seating. He had copied down the ritual itself from Hermione’s notes and given himself plenty of space for marginalia. He didn’t have the exact words, of course, and he hoped to discuss with Luna the possibility of her reporters recording it verbatim and sharing a copy with him afterwards, as well as a picture or two, not that the photographs would add much to the study he was making, but it would be a good memory aid and might possibly reveal things originally obscured, though the possibility of such a thing was slim.

Of course none of his reference books had any mention at all of doing a blood magic ritual with other sentient species and that was bound to be a very large part of what was going on, and there were only two mentions of rituals specifically being held over ley line crossings at standing stones, and they didn’t differ at all from the other mentions of doing rituals on single ley lines. Always powerful lines were sought out in order to use their power in the ritual.

He sat back and spent some time thinking about that as he hadn’t had the luxury to do as yet, having spent what time he could spare researching and taking notes on the project.

Viktor closed his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest, tucking his head down and letting his mind go blank.

_“She gave up the sword after the painting was finished, gave it to the Chief of the Love, and walked the lines while they were still strong enough to be felt,”_ Harry had said, translating.

_She walked the lines while they were still strong enough to be felt…_

Most magic done on ley lines was done to syphon off a little of their power. But after not having a monarch doing the seating ritual for several years, and arguably the other three species doing it as well, a once-strong line began to shrink. 

And there were other examples. The mist doors were powered by the ley lines, in their stronger, or perhaps once-strong form. The dead portraits died because they were made to constantly syphon off the ley lines, which were weakening.

So what if Gelwyn’s ritual was to add power back _into_ the ley lines?

Would it cease with just the four lines?

How far would the lines grow?

How powerful would the lines get?

What exactly would be powering the ley lines? A few dozen drops of blood wasn’t going to be enough. For a stable piece of magic with a beginning and an end, like the mist walls of the New Palace, yes. A few drops of blood from exactly the right place on exactly the right person and exactly the right ritual and you’ve got a piece of magic that will disappear with fiendfyre or volcanic action, but probably not dragon fire. But a ley line? That was, as his new maths books told him, several orders of magnitude larger. It was exponentially larger. A dozen or two drops of blood and a really good song, even sung by merfolk, even from four different species, even with ancient athames like Excalibur, even with eight standing stones to act as foci, _it still wasn’t enough._

_“Cair Paravel, Stronghold of the Northwestern Crossing,”_ Mory had said, and the name meant something to Hermione. She had explained briefly later, and there were yet more books he needed to read… but what if the Curtain wasn’t the only… stronghold?

What if the _ritual_ was the stronghold?

But how could the _ritual_ be enough to repower the ley lines? It couldn’t. So… there was something else.

Viktor sat in quiet contemplation for a long while before he took out his pen and wrote down the relevant quotes from all involved, and Mory’s description of the name of the estate. Then he wrote down his questions.

What he hoped was not going to be the case, and what he genuinely feared might be, is that the ritual, as stronghold, would take the power _from them._

Viktor loved Hermione with all his heart and mind and body and strength, but he had no intention to be a sacrifice to some ancient decision of how magic should work in the world.

He knew Hermione and Master Harris were examining this ritual in depth and doing some arithmancy calculations on it as well. He would need to talk with her in the coming days when they had a moment, or perhaps ask for access to her notes. Or really, both.

Viktor had been looking up, vacantly staring into his own thoughts when something caught his eye. He couldn’t see the private floo-connected fireplace from his desk, as it was all the way across the expanded castle and just around the corner, and the wall-less rooms in the third floor were absolutely gigantic, each one, but from around the corner he saw someone approach and it pulled him out of his melancholy thoughts of being the sacrificial lamb of the wizarding world and made him slowly begin to grin.

Viktor was distracted from watching Hermione silently stride toward his desk from the private third-floor floo she had clearly just walked through - and was she wearing the shorter school skirt, or was it his imagination? Certainly the determined look on her face wasn’t - only to hear the tiny pop of an elf next to him.

“Mistress Pendragon is here,” Mory said, grinning up at him, having come in directly next to his desk chair.

Viktor resisted the urge to snort. “Go away, Mory,” he said instead, grinning down at him.

Mory did so, giggling to himself.

Viktor looked up again, trying to wipe the smile off his face. Mory was so short Hermione possibly wouldn’t have been able to see him behind his desk, ancient and simple though it was.

Still, Hermione smiled at him and while it was definitely an intimate sort of smile, Viktor’s mind was firmly in territory not dedicated to sex.

Carefully, he got up from his desk chair - it was an ancient variety that folded, with a fabric seat made of dragonhide, as so many things were in this castle, and had no back. It might or might not last long as his desk chair, but apparently, according to the elves, that was its original purpose and Viktor was willing to at least give it a decent try.

Really, the only thing in Cair Paravel that had anything like modern comfort was the Roman Bath. Everything else was harder, smaller, stiffer and appreciably ancient in style.

Still, he met Hermione around the other side of what he called his desk, but which arguably could be called a large table, and when she leaned in and rose on her toes for a kiss, he met her lips with ease.

“How was the leaving feast?” he asked mildly, after the kiss finished.

“Less poignant than in years past. I mean, no one’s trying to kill us and we’re all seeing each other soon. Most of us tomorrow. So, not so bad. Harry and them will be here after breakfast and packing, so about nine, I think, which is also when my parents are arriving. Mama and Papa are arriving at ten, right?”

“Mm,” Viktor agreed.

“And Bill and Fleur and Narcissa and Draco are arriving at eleven.”

“Spend some time with your parents when they arrive. I’ll get your friends settled and then spend some time with my parents and we’ll come back at eleven to greet the next round, yes? Lunch will be at noon, and there will be tea in the Central Courtyard at four, and then dinner at eight in the Great Hall. But now I wish to discuss arithmancy,” he said in all seriousness.

He watched Hermione fail to process his request quickly and he smothered the smirk. Sex later. Ensure they would not all live fore-shortened and painful lives of misery, first. 

He explained briefly and Hermione fetched her ritual blood magic notebook from her unadorned belt pouch. Viktor picked up his own notebook and his pen and led her to the sitting area just off his study that was around the non-floo-fireplace. He watched her plop down gracelessly and then wince and sit up straight.

“Oh, wow. This is the most uncomfortable piece of furniture I’ve ever sat in,” she commented.

_Wait until you use your desk for the first time,_ Viktor thought ruefully. “Housekeeping later. Ritual Blood Magic now.”

“Right. Right, of course. Yes.” Flipping to the right page and pulling out her own pen, Hermione began to outline their general work together before he directed her to his specific concerns.

“Right, well, that’s interesting. We didn’t go quite there, and of course exact details are unknown, but if you look at these three arithmancy equations on this page and following--” she handed over her notebook, “--you’ll see that Master Harris suspected that there would be some significant give and take from all of us, possibly mediated by the stones, and if that third equation is right with all the variables, which admittedly the equation is right but the variables might be wrong, but anyway if its right, then the stones act as the flow-stop valve mechanism in both directions.”

Viktor held up a hand for a moment to think and was dimly aware of Hermione’s attention drifting to the profound discomfort of the bench-with-a-back-and-a-pillow ‘sofa’ they sat on before the fire.

Copying each equation into his own journal with notes concerning Hermione’s work allowed Viktor the mental space to consider them deeply, and he included more questions of his own underneath each one.

So many variables were known, of course, and that did give the basis for some very concrete and exact results. The number of participants, their species, their gender, their exact actions, the size and type and configuration of stones, the lines in question. The specific athames were at question - Excalibur was one given, and likely the merfolk would use tridents but of unknown metal make up, and of course Viktor could use the specific factor of his own athame. But it would be nothing to call Mory and ask, so he did.

“Yes, Master Krum?”

“Good evening, Mory. Will you tell me what blade you intend to use during the Seating ritual? You and Pampy both?”

Mory tilted his head and furrowed his brow. “Blade, Master Krum?”

“Yes. It is ritual blood magic, and we will all need to draw blood from ourselves. What blade do you intend to use in order to do this, and of what substance is it made?”

After a moment, a look of understanding passed over the old elf’s face. “Elves do not require tools for such simple tasks, Master Krum. We will not use blades.”

Viktor was left somewhat without words as he tried to reconfigure his assumptions. “Ah…” 

“Could you tell us more about how that works, Mory?” Hermione asked, and Viktor was dimly aware she was transfiguring the chair near the sofa into something considerably more comfortable.

“Yes, Mistress Pendragon. We ask for two drops of blood and our hearts give them up. This is enough to mix with our mate, and then to place on the stones. It is the same two drops from the heart that the elves gave up in the beginning, to close the circle and create the fourth, and it is the same two drops from the heart that each elfling gives when it vows to serve.”

Viktor’s brain was scrambled, but only for a brief moment. “Do you suppose the merfolk and the centaurs do the same as the elves will, Mory?”

Mory tilted his head to one side and seemed to be thinking about the question. “No, Master Krum. They are too fond of their tools. The Merfolk will use their copper blades. The Centaurs will use their iron blades. But we elves,” and here Mory tilted his head to the other side and smiled, “We will not make complicated the simple.”

While they were on the subject…

“Mory, do you have any concerns about doing the ritual of the Seating?”

He took a moment to think about that, as well. “No, Master Krum.”

“Do you believe the ritual of the Seating will harm Hermione or myself in any way?

This answer was more immediate. “No, Master Krum. I would not allow it.”

Viktor allowed a fond smile to soften his features otherwise pulled into tight lines of concern. “Do you have any advice for us?” Viktor saw out of the corner of his eye as Hermione moved on to the other chair around the fire.

Mory thought about that for less time and answered with his characteristic grin and good humor. “Do not complicate the simple.”

Viktor took a deep breath and tried to relax. “Thank you for your wise counsel, Mory. Have a good night.”

“Goodnight, Master Krum. Goodnight Mistress Pendragon.” And then he was gone.

* * *

Hermione watched as Viktor rubbed his face with his free hand, gathered up the materials he was studying and moved to her newly finished squashy and comfortable club chair with its single ancient throw pillow in dragonhide. He groaned as he sat back in it, but she didn’t look to see. She was concentrating on her transfiguration. The second one was easier than the first, and when she was finished she sealed it with a pair of runes. Really, if Viktor wanted something else around his fire, she’d swap with him and take this set. It was turning out well, the wood grain and painted bits swirling together in the faux-leather coloring that was ending up not looking like cattle leather but, unfortunately, dragon leather, but possibly due to the coloring, no dragon that had ever existed. Still, it was a nice contrast with the green possibly Welsh drake of the pillows, and the pillows would be a nice original touch. When she was finished, she moved on to the bench with pillows and turned it into a proper sofa. When she was finally all finished she fell bonelessly into its cushiony wonderfulness and sighed, making a mental note of the two drops of blood Mory had mentioned. So wizarding humans descended from non-magical humans who had two drops of elven blood imparted to them? Well, that was in line with what she was discovering bit by bit.

And, with an absolute certainty the pure bloods were going to have kittens over this one. Best not to lead with, _and then the elves took pity on us and decided to give us magic and keep us as guardian pets_ . _Really we’re like overgrown cats, here, with delusions of grandeur._

Then she groaned. “We’re going to need to do this all over the castle, aren’t we?”

“Mm,” Viktor said, his eyes closed and his head back. “Mama will help. Some of our friends might, as well. I admit that I saw ancient chairs and stools with great intrinsic value and did not stop to wonder how uncomfortable they would be to use. Before we transfigure more pieces we should probably consider which we want to keep for posterity, auction, or perhaps as museum pieces.” He groaned again. “Myon, am I making the simple complicated in my concerns about the Seating ritual?”

“Perhaps, but I love that about you,” Hermione pointed out.

His disappointed grunt was clear. 

“No, listen. You think deeply about things. You care about consequences. And you do have this intuitive understanding of ritual blood magic and I’m glad you brought up what you did. May I share your insights with Master Harris, by the way? He’s invited me to write to him over the holidays if I have any insights, questions, or concerns, and I think all this counts. It’s really been quite fascinating, studying this with him. 

“Oh, right. Your point. 

“No. I mean, Mory knows more about this than we do, or he just has more trust, but I consider you to be displaying prudent levels of caution, Viktor, and I’m yet again grateful that you do so. 

“And now, it has been a surprisingly long day. If we’re not having sex, I’m going to go change out of my uniform and have a bath. Ooh. I could go and soak in the Roman Bath.”

Hermione had only just put her pen back in her belt purse when Viktor swiped up all of his things - his journal, her journal, his pen - and swiftly stood up and came to stand by her, one hand out. When she put her hand in his, he pulled her up and against him with a sense of urgency he hadn’t yet displayed that evening.

“Who said we weren’t having sex?” he asked, his voice a low rumble.

He had one arm around her and it was possible that he also just slipped her journal back into her belt purse for her. Hermione grinned and was happy to be pressed up against Viktor, yes, but also specifically she was happy to be pressed up against this happy, horny version of him, rather than the sadly contemplative version she was coming to know all too well.

“Well…” she said, drawing the word out and still grinning.

He bent to kiss her neck just above her collar and Hermione gasped a little at the beautiful sensation of his facial hair on her sensitive skin. “Nine days,” she breathed out, but in truth just at the moment she was perfectly content in his arms.

* * *

Hermione woke just before dawn to the tempting aroma of tea and croissants. She stretched and moaned.

“Stop being so sexy or we never get out of bed,” she heard behind her on the pillow, and felt very particularly the large hand pulling her hips back into his. She could feel how hard he was as he pressed himself against her arse.

She rolled her hips and he groaned. His hand started to wander lower, up and down her thigh, and then questing fingers said hello to her clit. Probably just to be friendly.

“Me?” she protested, her voice still filled with sleep. “I’m just innocently laying here,” she slurred out slowly. “You’re the one actively seducing me and preventing our morning run.”

He groaned and rolled away from her. “Truth hurts,” he said, staggering out of the bed and into the dressing room where their running kit and a toilet both lived.

Hermione got up with less speed but also less staggering and out of habit made the bed, because why leave it for the elves when she could straighten it herself?

Just then Crooks headbutted his way into their suite, meowed loudly, hopped up at the end of her bed, gave her a cross look and curled up to go to sleep. Clearly the elves had already fed him or otherwise he would have a very different attitude at present. She moved to give him a scritch, which he reluctantly decided was probably acceptable.

“You can’t tell me you don’t love having a whole castle to yourself, Crookshanks, and elves to spoil you and feed you well before dawn. I won’t believe you.”

The purring got discernibly louder.

“Yes, that’s what I thought.”

Hermione spent a long moment lavishing attention on her cat, which served the dual purpose of calming him and giving Viktor time to finish in the toilet. When she heard him moving around in the next room she dropped one last kiss on the top of the ginger tom’s head and took herself off to get ready as well.

Ten minutes later, dressed, brushed, toileted and taking a quiet moment in their sitting room to drink some tea, Hermione remarked on the quiet.

Viktor smiled at her. “You are used to living with many people. You miss your friends?”

Hermione thought about that. “Yes and no. I mean, I do. And yet it’s also lovely to spend a quiet morning with you. I do love my friends, and I miss them when they’re not around for long periods of time. But I’ve always loved getting away from them and immersing myself in my studies, you know? And I think that’s only partially about my studies, and maybe partially about having that alone time. I’ve never felt that way about you, though. Interesting.”

Viktor polished off his croissant and got up to begin stretching. “Is because, perhaps, we give each other quiet, yes? We read and study together, respecting the need for quiet time.” He groaned at a particularly deep stretch and Hermione finished her tea and joined him, relishing the calm quiet between them.

“I do love talking with you, though. I always have.”

Viktor huffed a little laughter. “Very good thing we are getting married, then.”

Hermione grinned. “Yes, I suppose it is.”

They walked briskly out of the castle together, agreeing to meet back in his weight training room in thirty minutes, if he hadn’t already come to find her and do a slower cool down at her pace.

Hermione ran in the early dawn, at first admiring Viktor’s form up ahead, but then just relishing the quiet and beginning to hear and appreciate the sounds around her, most particularly the bird song. By mutual consent they stayed out of the forest - perhaps next spring it would be safe to run and hike alone, but not until the centaurs had thoroughly reclaimed it - but since the meadow was about a mile wide and roughly circular, running around the edge was about five kilometers. Adding in the trip to and from the castle, and running around rather than across the outcropping of the lake into the meadow brought the tally up to ten kilometers, depending on what route you wanted to take. It was an extremely respectable morning run, but Hermione would do only about three miles of the possible six or so. Still, she was proud of her progress. And she hadn’t worn her rings on her fingers, but she had strung both signet rings on her locket chain and put that around her neck. In case of emergency the portkey was still available and Mory could still find her. It was nerve-wracking, but it helped to be actively running, an activity that helped to keep her calm.

Endorphins. Something else she wanted to learn more about.

She tried to keep her mind blank, but it was harder with no one there to distract her, and so she just ended up mentally chanting in her head, to the rhythm of her pace, _‘I am safe, I am safe, this is my home, I am safe.’_

Hermione realized halfway through her run that she really felt _so much safer_ when she ran with three other war veterans, rather than with Viktor a mile away and up ahead. She pushed herself a little harder, not really attempting to catch up, but trying perhaps to outrun the feeling of vulnerability. It sort of worked.

Maybe they _did_ need a dog, but one that would run with her, and not Viktor.

Maybe.

* * *

_December 23, 199_  
_ _Cair Paravel, Wales_

_Dear Master Harris,_

_I hope this letter finds you and yours doing well and enjoying your holiday preparations. Thank you for being open to communication over this holiday as concerns the Seating ritual. Having finally had the time to discuss it in depth with Viktor, who had been doing his own research on the topic, I do have one point in particular to raise with you that seems salient, though it is worth noting that my Head Elf is not remotely concerned, and I do trust his judgment. But I also know we are quite different in the way we approach life and there are things, for instance, that I know he doesn’t think to tell me unless I ask rather pointed and specific questions._

_I have quickly written in a bit of a flow-chart format on the next page the different considerations Viktor has that we had not covered in as much depth, and of course he’s noticed things that we also have done. The main thrust of his concern is that his intuition is telling him this is going to be a much larger change to the lines than can be sustained by the ritual itself, and if that is true, will the power come from us eight, and if it does, how on earth could that occur without causing minor or major detriment to our health, wellbeing, or length of life? I did point out the arithmancy calculations we had worked up and I’ve included a few new variables that Mory was able to provide to us at the bottom of the flow chart, but I haven’t had time yet to redo the calculations, incorporating the new variables. Perhaps after Christmas, as we have guests arriving today and by the 26th I’ll be due for a bit of a break._

_Happy Christmas,  
_ _HRM Hermione_

* * *

_December 23, 199_  
_ _Cair Paravel, Wales_

_Dear Elizabeth,_

_Happy Christmas! I hope that life at Sandringham is all that you hoped it would be. Please accept the enclosed gifts for you and Charles with my and Viktor’s best wishes. The red one is yours, the green one is Charles’, and if you don’t want to be entirely spoiled as to their contents, save the rest of this letter for later. And if you don’t mind ruining the surprise, read on!_

_These are both dragonhide gloves, and I’m fairly certain I got the size right. Yours is Swedish Short Snout and Charles’ are Hebridean Black. These are gloves that you cannot ruin. Strong acids and bases have no effect, nor would an open flame and I’m fairly certain liquid nitrogen would do nothing to them as well. I haven’t actually tried it, though if Charles ever does, I’d love to know about it, but I think you might actually be able to catch a bullet with it. (Not that I think Charles would be foolish enough to shoot his own hand, you understand, but should he try to shoot the glove, just make sure he’s not standing directly in front in point blank range. Just in case. I mean, I do think that heavy artillery would set a dragon back, but I feel quite certain that small caliber bullets would only mildly annoy it, unless you managed to shoot it in the eye, or in an open mouth before flames came out.) You can certainly catch curses with them, even unforgivables, if you’ve got the reflexes for it. When wearing them your hands will always be pleasantly warm, even in the summer. Now, they’re not totally indestructible. Goblin forged blades could slice through them, as they can do most things, and sustained dragon fire will destroy them eventually, likewise fiendfyre and possibly tossing directly into magma, though perhaps not lava as that might be too cool._

_I hope you and Philip and Charles and all your family have the happiest of Christmases, and since I can’t send them all my love, you and Charles will just get to hoard it for yourselves._

_Happy Christmas,  
_ _Hermione_

* * *

_December 23, 199_  
_ _Cair Paravel, Wales_

_Dear Mrs. Weasley,_

_Thank you for your kind offer to join you for Boxing Day dinner. Unfortunately I won’t be able to attend, as I have a number of house guests staying with me over the holidays and I will need to see to their comfort and amusement._

_Looking forward to seeing you at New Years,  
_ _HRM Hermione_

* * *

_December 22, 199_  
_ _St. Swithins-in-the-City Rectory, London_

_Your Majesty,_

_This is just a quick note to answer your question about an apparition point. The easiest and closest is certainly the fenced-in portion of the Rectory’s back garden, which is the only portion of the Rectory which is unwarded to incoming apparition. I would also offer my floo for your use, and the use of your guests, any time you wish to come and worship with us, the address of which is Saint Swithins Rectory, London. The Rectory is located across the lane and just down a few houses from the church, and it is easy to spot from the front garden._

_If it is convenient for you to pop by any time tonight or tomorrow or the next day through the floo to access the back garden apparition zone, I would be happy to wait on you. If you would be so kind as to let me know when to expect you, I’ll even have a cup of tea waiting to refresh you._

_Your servant,  
_ _Michael Fielding+_

* * *

_December 23, 199_  
_ _Cair Paravel, Wales_

_Father Michael,_

_Thank you for your quick response, and I do apologize for the rather crunched deadline, here. If it’s not too early I’d be very happy to pop round at quarter to nine this morning. I won’t stay but a moment, but when the holidays are all through I’d be very happy to take you up on the offer of a cup of tea and a chat._

_Thank you again,  
_ _HRM Hermione_

* * *

“Mum! Dad! How are you doing? Was the trip okay?” Hermione asked nervously, not entirely sure if elf travel would be as smooth for non-magical people as fully-magical people.

They were blinking and staring around, but soon they were smiling as well. “No, no, it’s fine. Tampy took good care of us. Thank you, Miss Tampy,” her father said.

Tampy nodded her head, then looked at Hermione. “Sir and Ma’am will be in the green suite next to yours, miss?”

“Yes, thank you, Tampy. And thank you for taking such good care of my parents.”

Tampy smiled then, and disappeared with the Grangers’ luggage.

“Well. That _is_ handy,” her father mentioned, shaking his head and shifting his jacket in his arms.

“Still feels so strange not to go through customs. I mean, we’re illegally back in the country,” her mother said.

“Don’t dwell on it, Mum. So. Your trip was quick and painless, but you still have options. Do you want to take a moment to yourselves in your room and settle in a bit and refresh yourself, do you want a tour of the castle, do you want to have a look around the enclosure and the grounds - I’m afraid the great lawn is filled with work crews working the last of the stage and the quidditch pitch, but another day or two and they should be done. And also the Regent players are rehearsing here for a bit, but they’re out near the stage.”

“Well, we already have our coats with us,” her mother reasoned. “Why don’t we start outside and then work our way in? Perhaps then we’ll have worked up an appetite and we can have a nibble and some tea.”

They stepped out of the Great Hall and were immediately confronted with the building now referred to as Concordia, which they walked around. Hermione pointed out various things as they made their way out of the Enclosure and onto the Great Lawn. When they turned around they could see the The Curtain rising above and behind the long and low Concordia, with the enclosure wall rising like a collar behind both.

The Grangers oohed and aahed as they made a wide circuit all the way around, not quite hiking out the half-mile that would have taken them to the quidditch pitch, or even farther out that would have taken them right next to the stage, but by the time they were done they’d had a lovely and invigorating walk.

“How much land is here, Hermione?” her father asked.

“Mmm, about 50,000 acres. The forest preserve extends roughly five miles in each direction from here. Not a perfect circle of course, but roughly speaking. That path there goes to the access road you can use with a car to approach, and if you just keep going eventually you’ll get to a motorway.”

“And the merfolk and the centaurs and the elves have already moved in?”

“Yes,” Hermione responded. “They came two days ago. I have an appointment to check on them in a few days and see how they're faring in setting up their various homes. I’m probably going to need to stock the lake with more fish, and I’m presuming the forest has enough wildlife for the centaurs, but I don’t know about fruit and nut and other vegetables. Winter is a hard time to move, and they’ve brought some stores with them, but we’ll be supplementing that until the elves get the crops going and there is a harvest next year. The Pendragon vault is, as I thought, full of treasures, but no real liquid assets, so for now I’m using the Black vault. And of course Viktor earns a significant salary and he’s put half at our elves’ disposal to use for anything Pendragon, which presently is going to be food for quite a lot of beings. I think we’ll probably be participating in a bit of a discreet auction at some point, because there was a trunk of _these,”_ she said, pulling one of the not-galleons out of her pocket and handing it to her parents. “Keep it. It’s a bit more than a thousand years old, sort of. It’s not the modern currency, but it weighs about the same, and I figure we can get a lot more than the market value of the gold once we add in the market value of the antiquity of the item. Anyway. Thoughts? Concerns? Questions? Declarations that I've utterly lost my mind?"

Hermione's parents laughed.

"You have a lot going on, here, sweetheart," Hermione's father said. "And you've got a lot of people to help you, and they all seem to have come out of the woodwork with the specialties you specifically require. It's hard to have concerns when we're both so proud of you."

"If we have any concerns," her mum continued, "it's that you make sure to spend time taking care of yourself, and you absolutely must make time for Viktor. The same thing goes for him, of course, but I'm sure his mother is covering that right now with him. Anyway, he's not my responsibility, you are."

"We're so proud of you," her dad said. "Whatever advice we give, never forget that we're so proud of you, Hermione.”

Hermione gave each of her parents a hug and then they kept walking.

“So! Who’s here already? Give me a rundown on all these personalities so I can try to keep them straight.”

“Well, alright, let me think. Viktor’s meeting his parents right now, Sofia and Gregor, and then in a little bit Harry, Ginny, and Luna will arrive, and then a bit after that Bill, Fleur, Narcissa and Draco will get here and that’s it until Christmas, and those people will be staying with us for the whole break, except a few people nipping off to have the odd meal with other people.”

“Oh, gracious,” Helen said. “And how many people is that? I lost count.”

“We’ll be thirteen for dinner,” Hermione said, aware of the taboo.

“Wow. Maybe I should be writing all of this down,” William pointed out, meaning it.

Hermione reached inside her belt purse to pull out a pen and her father pulled out a small and ever-present notebook from his breast pocket. He wrote as they walked and Hermione gave brief biographies of everyone, including Saucepot. Who being present, though possibly not eating, would count as fourteen for dinner.

“We’re counting snakes, now?” her mother asked.

“Well, he counts himself, and he’s just as sentient as you or I. And he did offer me my very first marriage proposal. Weeks before Viktor. Quite sweet of him. I turned him down very kindly, you’ll be happy to know.”

“Saucepot proposed?” her mother clarified.

“Mmm, he’s a bit of a flirt. Harry says he sounds like an American gangster to him. But snakes don’t lie, so it’s very helpful for Saucepot to constantly offer a reality check to Harry.”

“Huh,” said both of her parents at roughly the same time.

“So, what’s this about adopting Harry? He’s grown. Does he need adopting?” her father asked, handing the pen back but still glancing at his pages of notes.

Hermione shrugged. “I suppose it’s a matter of perspective. He is, in every way that matters, my brother. So’s Draco, actually, though I’m much closer to Harry. And he’s never really had a father figure. Viktor says he seems desperate for love and acceptance from older men, and seeing who Harry had briefly - Sirius and Dumbledore, I mean the former was a basket case and the latter was deeply manipulative, and even them he had only partially, and not for long.” Hermione shrugged again. “I know you’d be skipping all the cute stages of infancy and adorableness, but you’d also be skipping over Harry as an angsty teenager, and believe you me, he was angsty. Now he’s just genuinely broken, but I think he is on the mend. Anyway. On the bright side, twice as many grandchildren.”

Helen Granger delicately snorted. “We don’t need to be convinced, Hermione. What we need to do is talk with Harry and see what he wants.”

Hermione sighed and nodded as they continued to stretch their legs. They told her about their practice and how the memories had shifted and settled and how it all seemed like a grand adventure they’d gone on years ago, somehow, with dim recollections and odd stories. Finally, her father sighed as they were looking up at the Quidditch Pitch.

“Hermione, sweetheart... We’ve decided we want to stay in Australia. But that doesn’t mean we don’t want to keep in very close contact with you. We want to visit. We want you to come and visit. We want you to pop in for tea. We want to keep writing. We want to get to know Viktor. We want everything… we just… also want Australia.”

Hermione grinned ruefully and hugged her dad with one arm as they walked. “Well, that’s not a huge shock, really. You’ve always wanted Australia. If I’d wanted to send you somewhere totally random you would have had a flourishing dental practice in Mozambique, or Uruguay.”

“While I do think we _might_ have been helpful rather than such a hindrance,” her mother said, “what’s past is past, and I am grateful to have experienced Australia. After the New Year, your dad and I want to clean out the house here and put it up for sale. And we want you to go through and pick what you want to save, as well. And a little magical help wouldn’t hurt, if you could spare an elf.”

Hermione nodded, knowing they might go this route. “I don’t mind. Will you mind a lot of magical help? Because I’d like Viktor to see where I grew up before we totally dismantle everything, which may or may not mean that other friends and family volunteer to come and help as well.

Helen grinned. “Moving parties are fun. We’ll order take-away.”

Hermione cringed, remembering one or two small facts about the house that didn’t mean much to her, but… “Um, your garden’s a bit rough, by the bye. I just put a notice-me-not charm on the whole thing so the neighbors don’t complain.”

“How high is the grass?” William asked. 

Hermione took a deep breath. “Well, I haven’t mowed in two years. So I prefer to think of it as wilderness habitat.”

Her parents laughed.

“It’s fine, Hermione. You had other things to worry about,” Her mother assured her. “Viktor’s a gardener, isn’t he?”

Hermione dithered. “Um, roses of any sort, definitely. Farming and crop rotations, check. Everything else, I’m not sure.”

“Well, let’s see if he wants to transplant anything from our garden to yours. Do you have a garden here?”

“Not that I’ve noticed,” Hermione pointed out as they headed back toward the castle. “I mean, he has promised to plant me a rose garden, and I am looking forward to that. It’s the magical roses, the Concordia, that his family grows. We’re going to cover the Roman building with the climbing variety, that’s one of the reasons we renamed it, and then the Enclosure wall as well. He says in three years it will be entirely covered with white roses.”

“That will be beautiful, especially on the back wall there, and especially for the suites that look out onto it,” her mother pointed out.

Her father gave a discontented mue. “Shame about the Roman building, though. Looks quite good as it is, those red curtain walls are a nice contrast against the white-grey of the stonework.”

Hermione gave her father a look.

He backpedaled. “No, no, I get it. Bad memories. Dumb ancestors. Blame your mother. That was her side of the family.”

“Oh!” Helen huffed, but soon everyone was laughing again.

“Wow. That is so much smaller than I’d imagine, just a squat little thing, isn’t it?” William remarked as they got closer to The Curtain.

“Magic,” Helen sighed, shaking her head. “You’re not worried it’s going to collapse in on you in the night?”

“No,” Hermione said with complete assurance. “It’s a few thousand years old and it’s been maintained every year by elves who have passed down the knowledge from generation to generation. And it’s only the Great Hall that doesn’t have the safety cantrips to never collapse with an occupant inside, and that’s in time of siege. The whole compound is remarkably well organized to withstand both magical and mundane siege warfare, which given the fact that I’ve participated in siege warfare, I find remarkably comforting.” Hermione went on to explain that in case the outer walls were breached, the Curtain doors would only admit to the Great Hall, which would be sealed off from the stairway and hallways, but would enlarge to ten or so times the size, essentially to allow the entire wave of invading forces in, then the doors would close, and it would collapse itself.

Mory had thoroughly explained to both Viktor and Hermione all of the deadly traps, the amazing expandable Great Hall being only one of them.

Hermione showed her parents to their suite on the first floor just on the other side of her own rooms.

“Right, so I need to apologize right off. Anything you find comfortable or convenient about this place is all down to Viktor. Soap, toilet paper, pillows and sheets, that’s all him. However, we discovered last night that while every stool, chair, and sofa are durable, solid, and quality ancient museum pieces, they are incredibly uncomfortable to modern tastes. So, once everyone arrives we’re going to have a transfiguration party and figure out what should remain for posterity - ours, a museum’s or at auction - and then the rest gets replaced or transfigured. Now, do you want a moment of privacy to adjust? I can meet you downstairs in the Orange Salon - that’s the one we’ve set aside for you and Sofia and Gregor specifically, though of course you’re free to come and go wherever you like.”

Her father tutted at her and told her to have a seat and keep chatting with them while they explored a bit.

“A dressing room! I’ve always wanted a dressing room!” Helen called out as she wandered about. “The dressing table stool is perfectly appropriate! Don’t change it!”

Hermione told them about her current enjoyable side-project with expandable spaces.

“Once you perfect it, will you make me a dressing room in our little cottage? I love everything else about it. Well, the guest room might not be quite big enough for you and Viktor both, comfortably, come to think of it.”

Then Hermione explained _why_ she was fiddling about with her trunk.

“Well done, sweetheart!” her father complimented her. “I do like the idea of you and Viktor, and possibly Sofia and Gregor, and if we get that far, Harry and Ginny, coming to visit. Let’s think about something like that for Easter, shall we? Think you’ll have the mobile guest house ready by then? And have you considered the need for extra dining space in there? And perhaps a kitchen?”

Hermione sighed and flopped back on the bed. “Well, I’ve already sealed the total amount of room available, but I could…” she thought about it for a moment, flip-flopping some ideas in her head. “Yes, I mean, I could… Hm… I could put a bit of a galley kitchen in each one of the smaller common rooms, because they’re smaller, but they’re really not that small, and I could still work with the themes that I wanted originally. And then in the larger space I could have square wrought iron tables instead of the little circular cafe tables I was thinking of, and then they could be all put together for a banquet table. Any number of configurations, really. The kitchens might not be ready by Easter - I’d need to do quite a bit of research to figure out the set pieces there. I mean, a cold box is easy, and the rest requires as much planning as the bathrooms. Which I also need to finish researching.”

“Speaking of which, where does it all go when I flush here?” her father asked as he walked out of the dressing room. 

Hermione explained the composting middens.

“And the water source?”

Hermione explained about the extensive reservoirs below the castle, all of which filtered to some extent, and all of which drew from and returned to the lake.

“Well, can you do the same thing in your trunk, or is it all lost technology?” her mother asked.

Hermione had been thinking along those lines, and wondered just how far away the trunk could be and still work, if so. It definitely deserved more thought, later.

And then Hermione considered that she hadn’t built in space for elves, should they be travelling with them.

Hmm.

A second trunk?

A second trunk. Or maybe a smaller suitcase? 

She would need to discuss this with Mory before his quarantine, but then she could possibly work with the space elves to understand what sort of requirements they had.

Hermione remained lost in her thoughts until her mother sat lightly next to her and patted her leg. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s go downstairs and see if anyone’s about. And get some tea.”

When she got off their bed and readjusted her clothes, Helen looped an arm through Hermione’s as they left the suite.

“So. You have servants. All my efforts at teaching you to cook, clean, and do laundry have been for naught.”

Hermione smiled ruefully. “Flip side, I don’t get to have electricity here. Though Narcissa is putting it in the cottage at Ramsgate. So I will occasionally be able to watch telly. Still, there are radios that run on magic. I just have to figure out how to get standard FM channels on them. And gramophones are a thing, so I could build an LP collection, and at least I could cast some longevity charms on the records so they don’t scratch or skip. Still, the speaker on the gramophone I’ve heard was… not all one might hope it would be.”

“Too much treble and almost no bass?” her father asked.

“Exactly.”

“Might be fixable, if you found the right tinkerer and gave them suitable inspiration. Innovation can happen, even in the magical world. I’m sure of it. We’re all human, after all,” her father reminded her.

Hermione gave her father a squinting look as they walked into the Orange Salon. “What, you mean a subwoofer on a gramophone?”

“The bass is in the recording. It only takes the right tool to get it out, Hermione,” her father pointed out amiably before they looked further into the room and saw Viktor and his parents rising to greet them.

* * *

Gregor Krum watched as his daughter-in-law and her parents walked into the room, a shaded gradient of skin from black to brown to white and he had a happy moment thinking of how beautiful his grandchildren were going to be. And then he had an unhappy moment wondering how well the United Kingdom might like their new queen - beautiful, brilliant, courageous, strong - to be brown. Certainly her distant Pendragon ancestors weren’t. And some people were quite stupid about such things. If she had not encountered grievous discrimination before, she would soon. He and Sofia had already discussed it with Viktor. He was such a good boy, but so naive about some things, still. He wanted to think the best of people until they proved themselves to be idiots, whereas he and Sofia presumed a certain basic level of idiocy until rationality was demonstrated.

But then Viktor had not been raised in the shadow of Grindelwald’s terror, not knowing who to trust.

That was when Alexi, Gregor’s father, had started breeding the largest non-magical dogs in the world. First, to diversify income streams. Second, to give a subtle hint toward the family’s feeling concerning the worth of the non-magical world. Third, another measure of protection for the family.

That was when The Rosary became Unplottable, though it was no longer Secret Kept. But on a rotation, and still to this day, three dogs were always left in the open kennel at night and so allowed to roam the grounds at will, and woe betide the idiot wishing to cause mischief at The Rosary with political motivations. They had never lost a dog. Certain wizards had lost hands and fingers, however, and the family refused to make the dogs give them back.

Still, this was a happy moment. Viktor and others had worked to give her parents back to her and now they were here, and there seemed to be no tensions, no hard feelings, at which Gregor had to wonder. Viktor would never have dared do such a thing to them, but then they would have always had the means and the willingness to help him no matter what circumstance arose.

But Myon’s parents, the non-magical doctors, they looked so young, so light and happy. Perhaps they were only just forty, which would mean they were born in 1960, or a shade earlier. They were not ten and on the cusp of going to Durmstrang when war broke out across Europe, war in both worlds. What had become murmurings and careful teachings became strong words and prohibitions of how to walk the line and not be recruited, and neither to be singled out for attack and retribution. To trust no one. To make no close friends. To offer no confidences to student nor teacher. To study only, to excel only, to report everything in code and only once the security spells were fully mastered, and only using the family owl.

They were hard times in which all paranoia was healthy and in which the cheeriest and friendliest of students were active recruiters and disseminators of propaganda.

But how would these friendly, young doctors have helped their daughter during the war? Perhaps they had resources Gregor knew not, if only intellectual. In the end, he both admired and disdained the decision she had made to simply remove the two pieces from the board, but Gregor could not help wondering if she had removed two pawns or perhaps a bishop and a rook. Perhaps he would never know, and that frustrated Gregor Krum above all - the not knowing.

A person could find out a lot by spending all one’s time studying, becoming powerful, seeming to choose no sides but listening to all. And when Gregor Krum eventually _was_ recruited, it was with his father’s blessing. He was quietly apprenticed to the only other wizard in Bulgarian Intelligence, the one true cross-over department in magical and non-magical government and now he had his own apprentice, looking as he was, at retirement filled with grandchildren.

But perhaps, perhaps it would behove him to keep one foot in. For the good of the family.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, yes. Black Lives Matter. And whether you are having a yay-fest right now, or thinking, 'well shit, I'd been imagining Emma Watson all this time', no worries. Both are canon. And besides, my Viktor is taller and broader than Stanislaus and with more angled features, so both (in my head) are somewhat different than their movie versions.
> 
> But this, I think, is perhaps slightly less important than the healing and the love that all the characters are capable of embracing which is, I hope, the most important part. And if it's not, it should be.


	44. Chapter 36: Wherein Hermione swims naked without Viktor.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is Christmas Eve. At least it is December 24th, which is Christmas Eve for half the Christians in the world, and half the Christians in Cair Paravel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hurrah! Another chapter! Weeeeee!

The moment Sofia walked through the Roman Bath, her mind was made up. They would have a witches only gathering, including Helen, of course. But no men. Men tended to get stupid when too many beautiful women walked around naked and glistening with sweat.

It was a simple thing to suggest it to her hostess, especially since Helen Granger was obviously in support of the idea. Poor Hermione seemed never to have had a professional massage, seemed not to fully appreciate the gem she’d been handed. Certainly the castle was not large in comparison to other castles, though as manor houses went it was quite a respectable size. Oh, but Concordia, as it was called!

It was decadent, obviously, and equally obviously the site of many, many ancient orgies of almost every conceivable pleasure. But as a modern entertainment complex it held many diversions without resorting to orgiastic displays.

Sofia had already in the hearing of the others pointed out that she had no intention of wearing anything beneath the bathrobe, and why should she? Women regardless of their orientation were able to control themselves better than men. So she was not particularly surprised when the others followed suit. 

They were all beautiful women, Sofia had considered. Viktor’s friend, Fleur, the witch with a Veela grandmother was perhaps the most classically beautiful with the most perfect proportions, but beauty came in many sizes and shapes and true ugliness was something that took root within a person first, and blossomed in their outerself later.

Hermione was perhaps the hardest hit by such vulnerability as her scars were the most visible and gruesome, particularly the one on her torso. And there were a few tears, but afterwards there was great strength, the sort that comes with facing your fears and refusing to back down. Sofia was immensely proud of her. She and Viktor were well matched.

There were three elves trained in massage paired with the three massage beds made of stone, which the elves heated, and trays of fruit and water by the fountain in the hot bath room. Sofia and Narcissa both insisted that Hermione be one of the first to get a massage, Sofia and Helen insisted that Narcissa also be one of the first three to get a massage, and it was by general consensus everyone agreed Ginny should be the last of the first three. As Narcissa was getting her massage, the young lady Luna, who was apparently being courted by Narcissa’s son, was lounging on the side of the pool with her feet kicking in the water.

“Narcissa, should Draco and I marry, would you stay with us? In Malfoy Manor?” Sofia was not quite well versed enough in the fine nuance of English to tell if Luna wanted her mother-in-law’s company, but it seemed that way. But of course she might be mistaken.

“Well, for a few months, I suppose. While I get the other townhouse ready, in London. But not long, I assure you. It will be novel, I think, to be entirely the mistress of my own home without being second-guessed by an idiot. I mean husband,” she added quickly.

Everyone laughed.

Sofia swam up to where Luna was sitting and rested her arms on the ledge next to her. “Yes, we had a few rocky moments, Gregor and I at the beginning. And then he learned. The fields and the kennels are his to run as he pleases. The house is mine. We each have our responsibilities and now everything flows very smoothly indeed. No confusions. No screaming.”

Hermione chortled. “I’m so glad,” she groaned, and then continued on, “that Viktor is entirely managing the estate - house and field, both. I have zero aptitude and less interest.”

Fleur nodded as she sat at the edge of the fountain, drinking some water. “Yes, Bill and I share, you know? He does some things, I do others, and some we work together. Neither of us were raised with house elves, and we both know how to cook, so that is the thing we enjoy most together, the cooking. It is a very relaxing way to spend an evening, cooking with Bill and making beautiful things that taste heavenly.”

“I love baking,” Helen agreed. “But I can’t stand cooking. I leave all that to William who is quite good at it.”

“True,” Hermione agreed. “I miss Dad’s cooking.”

“I love cooking,” Luna said, “but my dishes don’t always turn out quite the way I hope. Daddy was quite good at that, but I’m afraid I’ve never gotten the knack. I’d be fine leaving it to elves, should that be an option.”

“And you, Ginny?” Sofia asked, noticing that the redhead was quite silent through all of this, simply receiving her massage. “How are things going for you?”

The young woman sighed. “It’ll be different with Trip returning to London with us after graduation, I’m sure. The house came with a house elf that… well, charitably I suppose I could say he’s had a rather hard life. He makes a half-way decent cup of tea, and a fairly decent scone, but that’s it. I’m pretty adept with cleaning spells and Harry can cook basic British fare, the stuff he learned at home. He knows how to clean by hand, and with electric tools, but neither one of us wants to do laundry by hand. No, thank you. And the house  _ had  _ been fairly rough. You know, the sort where after you’ve cleaned and scrubbed you can’t actually tell a difference? Rough. But Narcissa’s got that all in hand, now.”

“It is nearly done, my dear, and it’s going to be perfect, I think,” Narcissa said, her voice shaking somewhat with the pounding on her back. “Soothing colors. Elegant but comfortable apartments. Electricity and telephone. And Kreacher has been doing better with closer contact with his children. I think they’re keeping him on a bit of a more even keel. Also with a somewhat higher bar for livability, well... That helps, I imagine. I think if he only had to do the house cleaning and were encouraged to visit his sons and daughters regularly, and perhaps the other Black properties, it might do him a world of good. Still, the integration of Trip into life at Grimmauld Place will take a bit of gentle doing. I’d be happy to help with that, when you first move in. It might help, if you and Harry are willing to consider such a thing, if you name Kreacher the Head Elf of House Potter. I’d be willing to allow him to go permanently into your service. He’s not actually that old, though his mate has already died. I suppose it’s possible he might go a-courting again.”

“I’ll discuss it with Harry, thank you. Maybe we could all take a field trip later and see what the house looks like. We could regale everyone with stories of how dreadful it was and then everyone would be really quite impressed. Because it was really quite dreadful.”

“I’ve been in Haunted Houses that are less frightening,” Hermione said. “Oh. Non-magical thing. Take a place and dress it up the scariest way you can imagine. Darkness, shadows, cobwebs, scary music, people jumping out at you. You know. Just for fun, or what passes for it.”

“Insane,” Ginny muttered, though it echoed around the stone room all the same.

“Yes, well, Aunt Walburga was quite fond of the gothic look,” Narcissa pointed out.

“We know,” Hermione and Ginny responded at the same time and everyone else laughed.

It was quiet for a time after that, and Sofia swam in the hot pool, then went for a wonderful refreshing and quick dip in the cold pool before returning. When she did so, Ginny was asking something about cuisine, possibly.

“It would be utterly wonderful, if you’re willing,” she finished saying.

“Sure, let’s make that a project to keep Tampy from missing Pampy too much while she’s off with Mory after the thirty-first. Actually, if the head of Kitchens agrees, it could be cooking lessons all around, though I think I might hand the tactful management of that request off to Viktor so I don’t accidentally insult our cook. Which I do not wish to do.”

Sofia retreated to the empty dry sauna and considered that this would either be the most ideal way to end a day, or possibly to begin it, and particularly in the winter months when they had planned to be annual guests.

Or perhaps both beginning and ending the day this way? Would that be too decadent?

Sofia considered this idea. 

She would be present with her family.

She would still be taking and working on commissions.

She would have the freedom from her volunteer obligations at home, but she might take the opportunity afforded her and make some new connections here. Luna and Narcissa both seemed to be good places to start with that.

No. No, an early morning moment or two in the Roman Bath House and a similar moment in the evening would be just enough, really.

After a long, luxurious time in the dry sauna, Sofia stretched and wandered through the Hot Bath room and into the Cold Bath room, took her requisite dip to cool off and then came back in to find the massage tables changing occupants. She had a brief dispute with Fleur as to whom should get the massage first, but Sofia won, and it was Fleur on the table with Luna and Helen.

“Oh, this is simply heavenly. Thank you, Tip,” Helen said to the elf that was working on her back.

“Mother Pendragon is very welcome. Tip is honored to help Mother Pendragon relax today.”

Sofia’s eyebrow quirked up. She had never witnessed family elves so deferential to newcomers, or even new family they had only just met. Very curious. Viktor had mentioned in his letters that Hermione was compiling data and coming up with theories that would be, in the end, quite interesting, though now was clearly not the time to discuss them. Sofia would read them with interest when they were ready to be considered, however.

Yes, Sofia had long understood her son had fallen in love with a gem of a witch. Taking her measure while she was still young had been a good opportunity that Sofia had not squandered. And indeed, this beautiful rose had blossomed even more beautifully than predicted.

Yes, Sofia was very pleased, indeed.

* * *

_ Right now, _ Viktor thought,  _ right now _ Hermione is swimming nearly naked in the heat of the Roman Bath, sweat rolling off her beautiful skin. She would look luscious, he was certain, and ripe for affection. Her hair would be a riot of curls, she would smell incredible, and he would be desperate to just feast between her thighs.

But he was not in the Roman Bath with his beautiful bride-to-be. His mother -  _ his mother -  _ had banned the men from the Bath this morning and Hermione had suggested they get a start on finding a Christmas tree and decorating it. Because that would surely be short work for them.

After all, how many wizards does it take to procure a Christmas tree from a forest filled with prime specimens, and then to post it in the Great Hall and decorate it?

Bill and William had both opted to stay in and create decorations, Bill through charms work and William via the age-old muggle method of stringing food together artistically, which Viktor could not quite fathom but was willing to have his mind broadend, and as it turned out, their choice had been the better part.

This is what Viktor was thinking as he took a deep breath and tried another wandless cleaning charm and found, again, that it did  _ nothing  _ against pine needles stuck to him with tree sap.

This was their third tree.

The first one met its end in an explosion that none of the four men would ever discuss again.

The second one met its end in an explosion that perhaps would merit some discussion, possibly over alcohol, but not in front of anyone who had not participated.

This third tree had not yet exploded. It had not covered Viktor, Gregor, Harry, nor yet Draco in pine needles and tree sap  _ that refused to come off. _

They had discovered, much to their continuing dismay, that the less magic used on the trees, the better. A single slicing charm on the base, a quick apology to the tree, a moment of gratefulness, and then Gregor hefted the trunk over his shoulder and Harry grabbed the other end and carried it behind. Viktor and Draco flanked them, wands out, dealing with redcaps and other small menaces.

“Is…” Draco began, and Viktor could tell he was still warily scanning their environment, as he himself was. “Is finding your own Christmas tree always like this?” His voice carried his concern and his opinion, both. An opinion Viktor shared.

“I hope so,” Harry said heartily, and Viktor had to check with a quick glance. Yes, yes, the man with the snake around his shoulders was actually grinning. “This has been  _ awesome.”  _

His father had the temerity to  _ laugh. _

“What tales we shall have to tell, eh?” his father said, full of boisterous good humor that Viktor ignored steadily.

“Yeah, Ginny’s going to be sorry she missed this. But I get it. She needs girl-bonding time, too,” Harry said, charitably.

“Wherever Ginerva is,” Draco pointed out, “and whatever she is doing, she is likely quite clean.”

“Meh,” Harry scoffed. “Sometimes you need to get dirty to have fun, right Viktor?”

Viktor was saved from having to lie through his teeth by his father’s laughter.

“Hah! Viktor only likes to get dirty when he thinks the task… mm, deserves it. Yes,” Gregor said after a hesitation over translation, most likely.

“And which tasks deserve it?” Draco asked, disdain in his tone.

“Quidditch,” Viktor said.

Every man agreed, easily.

And sex. Sex was also worth getting dirty over, not that he was going to volunteer it as an answer. Alone with his father, certainly. Possibly with Harry as well. But not with Draco, despite their current agreement.

“And roses. He will happily get covered in dirt there,” Gregor said cheerily.

“I was twelve,” Viktor muttered, remembering falling in the puddles of mud several times that day, as he continuously tripped over his own feet. Growth spurts had been agonizing.

“And I remember it like it was yesterday, and I always will, Viktor. Is benefit of fatherhood. You, too, will remember every moment your children do something quite funny, and cherish it like little diamonds. And then, maybe, oh, maybe you will not be so harsh when Papa laughs to himself, yes?”

“Of course, Papa,” Viktor sighed, wondering if there could ever be a time when he could look back on the foolishness of his youth with the same kindly eyes his father did. It was a nice goal.

They tramped along in silence, Draco and Viktor scanning, wary, and quick with a defensive jinx, Gregor and Harry carrying the tree  _ by hand so it didn’t fucking explode for no apparent reason.  _

_ And was that yet another long-lasting anti-siege measure Mory had not yet mentioned? Try to make a battering ram or a siege engine out of part of the Pendragon’s forest and the trees join the effort and explode all over you, marking you as an idiot and usurper both? _

_ It would make sense,  _ Viktor counselled himself, trying to slow his breathing and calm the hell down.  _ And certainly when the farming elves had cleared some trees to reclaim the fields, the trees had not exploded. _

More deep breaths. 

“Thanks, Draco,” Harry said cheerily. “That squirrel looked dangerous.”

“Stuff it, Potter.”

“No, it had a look in its eye. Really.”

“Has anyone ever told you how annoying you are?” the blond asked.

“Er, not since I won the war. Everyone’s been eerily polite since then,” Harry said, his good humor undiminished and Viktor couldn’t help but smile at the young men’s banter.

“And precisely how long a grace period do you think  _ that  _ will buy you?”

“Er… long enough to disappear into the obscurity of a library?”

“Good luck,” Draco said, his tone flat.

“Come on,” Harry urged. “Can’t you see?” He paused, but apparently no one could and no one answered. “This is exactly the sort of ridiculous adventures we should have been having all along. Noone trying to kill us, or anyone else. Noone trying to take over the world. Just good, clean fun, clean being relative. And we’re going to church tonight. Never been to church before. Didn’t know you could go at night. And it’s the second largest festival of the year. Birth of Christ and all that. A new light in the world. Savior of all mankind, though I’m not sure if that’s meant to be exclusive or inclusive, I mean, gender aside there’s also a species issue. But all the same I’m rather thrilled with the idea that maybe for one night I could  _ not  _ be the savior of the world. Because I don’t want to be. And I think he was better at it than me, from what I’ve heard.”

Viktor’s heart ached for the young man who just yearned to be normal, and he decided to accept the tree sap with good grace after all. Besides, if it was a by-product of ancient anti-siege war efforts, Mory would know what combination of things could take it off, and no amount of cleaning charm would make a difference.

* * *

Christmas Eve dinner had been a late, slow affair, and everyone had dressed formally, mostly so that they were ready to go to church sometime after desert and long conversation. Hermione and Viktor had already decided that they would not often dine formally, though Christmas Eve was certainly a time to do it, and when the castle was full of guests for the coronation was another good time. Still, Mory had been informed, and there were, therefore pictographic place cards at each setting of the table and it took a bit of time to figure out the shield that was half farm field and half ink pot and quill, though the shields with single crossed wheat stalks behind were obviously distaff and meant for the woman of that name.

And so everyone was seated properly - across from their spouse or partner and it was interesting that Draco was sat across from Luna rather than his mother, and that across from Narcissa was a place setting that had only a single plate on a charger without benefit of napkin or utensils, and instead of goblets, a low bowl with water in it. Tonight, apparently, the elves refused to admit only thirteen to dinner, and Saucepot would be dining in state, escorting Narcissa, who was delighted and had been carrying him anyway.

Saucepot’s place setting was designated by the updated Potter shield with a coiled snake on top.

There were several courses. When the humans had soup, the snake had chilled grasshoppers. When the humans had roasted salmon, the snake had lightly braised anchovies. When the humans had roasted fowl, the snake had two steamed song birds. When the humans had salad, the snake declared he was full. When the humans had desert, the snake slithered across the table and curled up in his favorite witch’s lap and promptly fell asleep, which was not quite the done thing, but this is what happens when you dine with a snake.

* * *

Harry had enough time to put Saucepot to bed, and with not a single grumble this time, before joining everyone back in the Great Hall where Mory himself would transport the entire house party to the apparition point Hermione, Mory, and several other elves had visited and done whatever it is they do to catalogue a new place on their mental marauder’s maps.

Gregor held the gate open for everyone and happily the ground while not quite frozen, also was not quite muddy, either, and it wasn’t long before they were on the pavement and walking toward the church two by two with, he noted, Narcissa bringing up the rear, alone.

To Harry’s mind they were obscenely early, still nearly forty-five minutes early, but Hermione and the Drs Granger all assured him it would be necessary to find a good seat all together.

And they were right. It was packed already, and already there was a choir or something singing up front. Which was fascinating. Harry had never been in a church before, though he’d seem plenty of them on telly. This one was smaller than the really big ones he’d seen, like Westminster or some such, and not nearly so fancy and ornate. It was still pretty, though. Nice little stone church. As they came in someone wished them a Happy Christmas, and handed them candles and pamphlets and asked if they needed help finding a seat.

“Er, we’re with the Grangers,” Harry had replied, it being obvious upon their entry that they were known entities and much missed ones at that.

They hurried along and though they might have squeezed in the row with the Grangers and the Krums, both Viktor and his father were kind of large people, and so Harry took the row behind and ended up sitting right behind Helen Granger. Bill and Fleur were behind Hermione and Viktor, Draco and Luna were behind Sofia and Gregor, and there was plenty of room for Narcissa at the end.

In the end it was rather alright to have forty-five extra minutes, because Harry had never in his life heard better live singing and he only knew a few of the Christmas songs. He had no idea there was going to be a concert as well this evening. Was this how Hermione was used to spending Christmas?

Anything was better than last Christmas, of course, but he’d choose this in a heartbeat over the Christmases he knew beyond Hogwarts - corny films he never liked, but Uncle Vernon did, a Christmas feast he had to help cook but wasn’t allowed to eat until it was cold, and then if he was lucky, a broken toy and some cast off clothes the next morning. 

But this Christmas… In the morning they’d played the Exploding Pendragon Pinetree game, and then Gregor had taught them all how to play bocce, the lawn bowling game, after the tree was set, and then it was the men’s turn in the Roman Bath and for a single blissful hour of his life he’d had a  _ massage.  _ And Viktor had taught him why to alternate the heat and the cold, which made perfect sense of course, but he’d never thought of it, and he’d never ever thought he’d enjoy plunging himself in cold water, but it was really rather brilliant. And William had taught him how to swim! Not that he did it particularly well, but the hot and cold pools got progressively deeper, though they did have a ledge on the long sides that was good for sitting, but still! Harry learned how to tread water, and how to remain calm with his head under, and William promised daily swim lessons every morning if Harry wanted, and Harry took him up on it. And then afterwards Ginny had whisked him away for present wrapping, she’d said, and he was confused, because they’d wrapped all their presents already, but he hadn’t dared to say anything and it was just as well because she’d actually whisked him away for a bit of a lovefest before lunch.

And it was still a bit of a stunner to Harry that someone as beautiful and fiery as Ginny wanted his frumpy, broken self, but she  _ did  _ and she reminded him  _ often.  _

And then after lunch everyone learned how to play Monopoly, and while everyone began playing, some in teams, very quickly it became a face off between Gregor, Fleur, and Luna, while Narcissa and Sofia consoled each other about the quirk of fate that was the dice roll. Harry, of course, lost terribly right off the bat, but it was great fun because he’d always heard  _ about  _ games like Monopoly, but he’d never actually  _ played  _ them.

And then before dinner, Sofia and Viktor played several duets on their cellos and Harry was just in awe and wondered if it was too late to learn some sort of instrument, or if you had to start early, like they had. It didn’t have to be the cello, but  _ something.  _ To make such beautiful music, to participate in making something  _ beautiful  _ rather than all of the death, all of the killing...

Merlin there had just been so much killing.

He’d killed so many people and really, really, he started so  _ early.  _ Sometimes he wondered if that’s why he was broken. Right there in first year, he’d killed one of his professors. And he’d meant it. And it had been the first, and not the last.

Harry sighed as someone started to play the harp and a single person, a soloist, the pamphlet had said, began to sing softly, sweetly. The write up said it was a lullaby. It was beautiful, but so sad, so intensely sad. She sang about a child marked for death and Harry didn’t even realize he was crying until he sniffed. Ginny gripped his hand and a moment later, without even turning around, Helen Granger discreetly held a rather sturdy looking clean handkerchief over her shoulder and he took it without words and used it to wipe his eyes, but of course then there were so many more tears, but they were almost at the exact front of the church and no one could really see him except the choir, and they were focused on other things. And even better, they didn’t know who he was. He had already seen the eyes of strangers, mostly when they came in, rove over their party and there were a few glimmers of happiness at seeing Hermione and her parents, but none who recognized them with that manic gleam of the hero worshippers.

Yet again it was a relief to be in muggle London, and totally anonymous.

It was relief, too, when the beautiful lullaby ended and the two smaller stringed instruments started playing with the cello again, and then the next song was louder still with the whole choir, and then the final song of the concert was by Felix Mendelssohn, who was apparently a big deal, and everyone stood up and the Grangers turned around and helped them find the right page in a book of songs that was housed in a little widget by their knees, and by the time everyone was meant to sing, they were ready to except that Harry had no idea how to read music and when he looked at Ginny she just shrugged and shook her head a little, but then  _ everyone  _ was singing and Harry had never felt so  _ surrounded  _ and by something so  _ good,  _ and by the second verse he kind of had the hang of the tune and tried to sing along a bit, softly, but then he was crying again - shit, why couldn’t he stop crying? - and Harry discovered that it’s actually really hard to sing and cry at the same time, which was weird because you could cry and talk at the same time, but singing was apparently a no-go.

And then there was a procession and some fairly decent ancient ritual that did not seem quite so odd to him, perhaps, as it might have done if he’d never been to Hogwarts. The high priest made it easy to follow along and to know which bits he was meant to say with everyone else, and the confession made him cry again, and though he read the creed with interest he refrained from saying it as he wasn’t sure what he believed at this point, but when the priest emphasized that  _ all  _ who were called by God to eat at his table were welcome at his table, Harry got up and received communion with the rest, though everyone in his row but Narcissa refrained. She kneeled down next to him on an embroidered cushion before a stone rail, her arm just barely brushing his, and when the priest came and stood before him, he called Harry by name, but he had kind eyes, not the manic eyes he usually got and the tears welled up again, dammit, but he was also focused on doing what Gregor Krum, on his other side, was doing and had done, so he whispered,  _ ‘Amen,’  _ instead.

_ “Narcissa, this is the body of Christ and the bread of heaven.”  _

God, why couldn’t he stop crying?

A sip of red wine - still crying, dammit, dammit,  _ dammit -  _ and then he followed Gregor back, shuffled by everyone in his row and sat against the stone wall wondering what the hell was going on with him.

But then Harry thought that maybe,  _ maybe,  _ for the first time in his life, hell wasn’t involved.

* * *

Fleur was enjoying herself immensely. She was  _ Catholique _ , of course, though more in spirit than in practice, so it went in her family, but the churches were very alike, very alike indeed. The sermon was perhaps just a shade better here, and when the preacher, he spoke of the  _ magic  _ of Christmas, he did it with a grin at their assembled party, so yes, it must be he who was the wizard among all the assembled. But yes, it was all quite lovely. Beautiful singing. A small church, not much larger than a chapel, really, but packed to the gills, and she read from the bulletin that this was the third and last service of the day, and there would be two more tomorrow.

She refrained from communion. It would have been nice, perhaps, and she didn’t care much about such odd rules, but she was determined to have a clean conscience when she next went to church with her parents, whenever that was.

They left the church in silence and darkness, still holding their quaint and lovely little white candles, having just sung together  _ Silent Night  _ and Fleur tucked her arm into Bill’s as they made their way down the walk in the chill. There was no wind, and so the candles had no problem burning unassisted and while many people made their way to the automobiles parked on the street and in the small lot behind the chapel, they did not. Sitting in the front it had taken a bit of time for the rest of the church to empty and so many people were already away and gone by the time they walked across the street and down several houses, around to the back of the priest’s house and away.

Hermione quietly called to her Head Elf - what an antiquated old thing but with such a quick grin! - and they all left as quietly as they had come.

The Great Hall was changed, somewhat, comfortable couches had all been drawn up to the decorated tree - such a beautiful thing in white and yellow and red, as if it were blooming - and all their presents were gaily wrapped and tucked underneath. On each sofa lay a new pair of extra large socks with their names on. When Fleur found hers she looked to Hermione with a single brow raised, and their hostess indicated they were all to hang them on the fireplace and so one by one they all did so.

When Hermione pointed out that if the assembled group didn’t hang stockings by the fire, how could Father Christmas come and fill them? That was when Fleur laughed. She was no child, but it was lovely to think that their hosts had been so prepared, and it was a lovely tradition, as well.

Fleur watched from her sofa next to Bill when the young woman, Luna, broke off from the Malfoys and sat down with her wand out in front of the Christmas tree and announced that she would hand out the gifts. And so she did.

Each person had a pile of gifts on their laps and at their feet of roughly the same size as everyone else’s pile. At first Fleur wondered how that might be, but then she recognized that in their pile were gifts from her parents and her sister, and some of their friends, gifts from Bill’s parents and his siblings who weren’t here as well as from Viktor and Ginny. 

One by one all the gifts were opened without any rush. There was food and clothes and bright shiny baubles, antique books and specialized equipment. Her parents had given them a set of protective amulets which should help rather than hinder their work, and his parents had given them each a pair of spectacles which would help to reveal the presence of curses, traps, time-sensitive jinx and dormant dark artifacts. Her sister had given them a wheel of their favorite cheese. Her brothers-in-law had given them various odd and wonderful things from chocolate to fireworks, and her sister-in-law had given them each a matching belt bag of sturdy leather that had several very handy-looking extension charms. From Viktor they received two advanced tickets to the next World Cup Series, and a reservation for a tent encampment. 

All in all it was a wonderful pile of gifts, really. Some were frivolous, some deeply useful, some coveted, some tasty, and in the end, Fleur relaxed back with Bill’s arm around her shoulders, her new spectacles perched on her nose just for fun and watched everyone else open and finish opening gifts. At first it was pure enjoyment but then she noticed a dark purple gleam that was not there when she looked without the spectacles. After much nonchalant examination, she realized it was coming from one of Hermione’s signet rings, though from this distance she had no idea which one.

From this angle she could see Narcissa’s hands, and there was no dark purple gleam from her signet ring, or from Draco’s or from Gregor’s, whose hands she could also see. But she couldn’t clearly see Viktor’s hands, so she had no way of knowing, there.

The Blacks were known to be a dark family, or at least dark of late, and so it very might well have been a dormant dark curse on the heir’s ring. But Bill had been tasked to check over all of the Pendragon jewelry, and she had assisted him, more for the practice than anything else and there was nothing dark. And there had been plenty of signet rings, as she remembered. But she thought perhaps that Hermione’s own signet ring  _ hadn’t  _ been included. Or had it?

Fleur was lost in thought and trying to remember the exact listing of signet rings when Bill squeezed her shoulder and gave her a smile. Without intending to, she gave him a worried look. After a moment of silent communication and still with a congenial grin on his face, Bill slipped on his own pair of spectacles and grinned down at her, as if they were just joking around.

He was quite good at that, Bill. Perhaps it was having all those brothers, all that mischief, but never getting in trouble.

Still, her sister-in-law was giving her a sharp look, though as Fleur looked about the room, no one else seemed to notice.

“Let’s talk to her about it after Christmas,” Bill whispered in her ear, after his own casual survey of the room. “It’s been dormant all this time.”

“You don’t think we have the responsibility,  _ now?”  _ Fleur hissed, outraged at his casual attitude.

“You want to ruin Hermione’s Christmas?” Bill countered.

“I want to keep Viktor’s wife safe,” Fleur argued.

And then her blessed and sainted sister-in-law broke in, her voice perhaps just a shade too cheery. “Oye, Bill, those glasses look like fun. Can I try them?”

Fleur jumped up and offered her own to the redhead.

Bill sighed in exasperation and his words came out all in a rush. “Your Majesty, there’s a dormant dark artifact on your person. In case you didn’t realize, we thought you should know. Of course if you do realize, it’s none of our business anyway.”

“It’s your Pendragon signet ring,” Ginny stated, before giving Fleur back her incredibly useful spectacles.

Viktor’s fiance sighed, taking off the ring. “Of course it is. Thank you for the heads up. If I can’t get it sorted in the next few days, can I hand it off to you? I’m sorry to ask you to work on your holiday.”

“We would be most honored,” Fleur responded. “And we only want you to be safe.”

“Absolutely,” Bill said, taking off his own pair of spectacles.

Fleur might have imagined such an exchange would be the death of all good cheer, but she was quite happily wrong.

“What on earth kind of dormant dark magic would the  _ Pendragons  _ put on the master ring?” Draco asked.

“Mmm,” his mother replied. “Until very recently the Black master ring had a compulsion to procreate and a dark curse to produce only male children. It would only go back into dormancy when you had an heir and a spare. When it came to Bella, she removed it  _ quite vigorously.  _ Just as well. No one wants any children of Tom Riddle running around.”

Ginny made gagging noises.

“Ooh, I’ve got to wash my brain out with soap and water, now,” Harry said. “Who’d want to get it on with Lord No-Nose?”

“No-Nose?” Helen Granger asked, looking confused.

“Yes,” Hermione added. “After his resurrection in our fourth year,” and she looked from Fleur to Viktor, “and during the third task of the tournament, he came back with some distinctly non-human features. And without a nose. He had two little slits in his face where a nose ought to hang, poor idiot.”

“Yes,” Luna added, leaning against Draco’s legs and still sitting on the floor. “One should never attempt resurrection unless one is already enlightened. Results vary otherwise, and it’s never a pleasant variation.”

Fleur marveled at the statement, not at the content, but at the utter sincerity with which it was uttered. 

Enthusiasm was not at all dimmed, despite the late hour or the conversational turn, but when their hostess began making her excuses, Viktor pointed out that any presents left on the couches would be delivered to their rooms in the morning, and everyone started to say goodnight. It had been a long but entirely lovely day, a very fine Christmas Eve, indeed. As Fleur walked arm in arm with her husband, she was certain that it was also not quite over yet.

* * *

“The question that lingers in my mind, Viktor,” Hermione said as the door shut behind her, “is are you entirely too preoccupied by the craziness of our life to enjoy being tied to the bed?”

She heard him sigh from the dressing room just ahead, and heard him mutter the one word,  _ “Fuck.”  _ Generally she took that as a yes, but perhaps not a permanent one.

Hermione thought about offering him a massage, but he’d already had one of those today, and undoubtedly the elves had done a better job of it than she could. Then she heard the bath running and said no more, knowing there would be an elf in the dressing room. Probably Tona.

Hermione put her wand by the single white rose on her bedside table and then walked into the dressing room to sit at her dressing table and remove her jewelry.

She saw Tona to one side, filling the tub, and Viktor to the other, moving in slow motion as he unknotted his tie and hung it up in the wardrobe. 

“Good evening, Tona,” Hermione said, greeting Viktor’s personal elf pleasantly.

“Good evening, Mistress Pendragon. Tona hopes all is well with Mistress and Master this evening,” the young elf said, and she could hear the clear concern in his voice. 

Hermione didn’t like to lie to the elves, or mislead them. And yet, there were things she had no interest in sharing with a vast majority of them. Tampy had earned her trust, as had Mory. Tona wasn’t there yet.

“It’s been a very long day, Tona, and I think we’re both quite tired. Other than that, we’re fine. How have you been settling into Cair Paravel?”

The elf sighed. It was the sigh of the much put-upon.

“Tona has not finished adjusting,” the elf eventually said.

“Remember that you can ask Head Elf Mory for what you need when you realize you need it. That includes more space,” she said, remembering what Viktor had said about his conversation with Mory when he arrived.

“Yes, Mistress. Thank you, Mistress.” Tona sounded thoughtful, at least.

Viktor came up from behind her and placed his cufflinks and his signet ring in the slim box he had for such things on the dressing table, and it made Hermione think about possibly getting a jewelry box. When he was finished he laid his large, warm hands on her shoulders and she met his eyes in the mirror. His eyes were soft and gentle and she couldn’t tell what he might be thinking. She smiled up at him, just a tiny smile, and he smiled back, a tiny smile. 

Viktor shifted then, gently bringing his fingers up to one ear lobe then the other, removing her earrings and putting them down on her table. As his hands came back to her, his fingertips lightly massaging her ears where the jewelry had been, he murmured to her, “You need a case for all your jewels. Or several.”

She sighed. “I was just thinking about that,” she answered quietly, taking off her rings. His hands shifted to the clasp at the back of her neck.

Viktor plucked the rose from her corsage and laid it in the bowl of fresh water next to his, and then took the pin off and dumped the tiny amount of water that had been in it in a second tiny bowl.

“Are you keeping your hair braided?” he murmured, and frequently she would, at least until after the bath.

“For now,” she said quietly and breathed deeply when his hands began to massage her shoulders. “So nice,” she whispered.

A little smile played at the corners of his mouth. “You looked so beautiful tonight,” he murmured to her, and he spoke so quietly he was barely audible over the sound of the rushing water.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. Hermione still wasn’t quite used to the fact that Viktor found her genuinely beautiful but she did believe him. And at least it was well balanced. He still didn’t believe that he was sexy even when he scowled, though she was working on that. Positive reinforcement, she was sure, would win the day.

Since they couldn’t talk about what might still be bothering him in front of Tona, she spoke of other things; her desire for shoe storage and clothes hanging rods for actual hangers as well as some sort of jewelry case or cases for her small but rather nice personal collection, to say nothing of the things from the horde that she didn’t want to literally have to sort through a pile of gold and jewels in a small trunk to find what she wanted. Somehow that seemed disrespectful to the items in question, even if it was also something of an exercise in abundance.

“Mm. I can arrange this when I have time. You are not displeased, are you?” he asked and there was a certain fragility in his tone that she hated on sight.

“No, no, no, no,” she said quietly. She put one hand over his on her shoulders. “I’m so grateful you’ve done as much as you have. And had it been up to me we’d be in a terrible state and we wouldn’t have any toilet paper at all.” 

The comment made him laugh, which was fully half the point of making it.

“It’s a lot, you know? And it’s not like we’ve inherited a fully-functioning modern castle. I mean, even with the elves maintaining everything so well for the last thousand years. We’ve inherited a fully-functioning ancient castle which was probably really affluent and comfortable for ancient standards. Wonderfully well maintained,” she added again, mostly for Tona’s benefit, “and also with so many little surprises.”

“Like exploding pine trees,” Viktor added wryly.

Hermione nodded, grinning up at him through the mirror. “No one could have anticipated the exploding pine trees, Viktor. You have my sympathy.”

“Really?” he asked, one eyebrow arched. “Because it seems like you find it quite funny, Myon.”

She suppressed the grin. “I would never laugh  _ at  _ you Viktor. I’m laughing  _ with  _ you, and soon you’ll be able to laugh at this, too.”

He harrumphed.

Finally the tub was filled and Tona disappeared. Hermione sighed. “Chimes on the floo, and a way to fill and empty the tubs on our own. I’d also like that one sorted, eventually, even if it takes a great deal of time. I don’t want to circumvent their methods, or insult anyone. I just want a bit of privacy as I get ready for my bath, you know?”

Viktor smirked and leaned down to kiss her neck.

“I see that you do,” Hermione murmured. She sighed into his affection. She was still a bit curious about whether or not there would be tie-Viktor-to-the-bed time tonight, but mostly because she liked to plan these things out, and as methodical as he could be, he was also much more comfortable winging things than she was.

Of course, she could wing it. Just see where it goes. She’d done that a lot last year.

Hermione hissed in pleasure at the feeling of Viktor sucking strongly on her neck. When he groaned, she responded. "Seven days."

He stopped sucking to correct her. "Six. It's past midnight."

She grinned. "Six days. God, I remember when I was counting down the days until you came to visit me on my birthday."

Viktor groaned again and leaned up, unfastening the back of her gown. "That was a different sort of agony." He slipped the top of the gown off her shoulders as she continued to sit at the dressing table, and then he went to work on the clasp of her bra.

"Oh?" Hermione asked, fishing for information.

"Mm. Filled with a passionate longing. Desperate to assure you of my love, to prove it, if possible. Wanting both to be a model gentleman and a ravening beast, both. Unsure if you wanted me truly, or just like the silly girls do. One moment filled with hope. The next filled with despair. Desperate to see you. Terrified to tell you that I loved you. But when you said you wanted to get over your fear of flying, I thought, yes. Yes, now is the time to get over my fear of telling Myon that I love her."

She smiled as he pushed the bra down her arms. "You know, your letters did give you away, a bit."

He smirked and responded. "But would you just imagine I wanted sex? I worried about this."

She shook her head. "Not my ocean. A lot of sex, yes. And holding back my hair when I vomit. And holding me when I cry. And making me be real and heal."

He snorted. "Myon please. No one makes you do anything you do not want to do."

She sighed at him as he stood behind her, his palms on her breasts. "Fine. When you point to irrefutable evidence that if I don't take measures to heal I'd be an idiot."

He gave an elegant little shrug and quirked his lips, but no more. She could feel the erection pressing against her back. While she still had the dress on, she willed it to be white again and then stood up to let it slip off her hips.

"Mm. Myon." He was right there, his fingertips pushing down the sides of her knickers. "I never get tired of seeing you undress," he said, his voice low and soft, a caress across her skin. 

Hermione very deliberately bent over in front of him in order to pick up her clothes and her shoes and grinned at his deeper groan. His hand roving over the skin of her bum felt fantastic. Slowly she straightened and tore herself away from him in order to put her clothes away and when she had turned back to him, he'd followed her to the wardrobe and was taking his jacket off.

As it happened, Hermione also couldn't get enough of undressing Viktor and her fingers were quick to tackle the length of buttons down his front. Six days. And it was different from the last time she had a countdown regarding him because then she was so nervous, she had missed him so much, and she was excited, but the three things were in relatively equal measure. And then the day occurred and she could hardly regret her decision not to have copious sex with him as soon as possible because, really, they’d had  _ so much to talk about.  _ So much to say. Even the tiny, inconsequential things felt so important, as if the act of sharing minutiae was a deeply intimate thing, a luxury they had never before indulged in, at least, not in person. It felt so important and perhaps it was, as they got to gage who the other really was and if all their hopes and dreams and assumptions had been right, or right enough.

But no, Hermione was not capable of enough imagination for her dreams of Viktor to be right, or even right enough, though perhaps  _ enough _ covered quite a lot of territory. Her dreams had to catch up to the reality of this beautiful man; not quite as perfect as he seemed at first, but utterly brilliant all the same, in every way that mattered to her. And if he tended to worry a bit, he also displayed  _ prudent levels of caution.  _ And if he occasionally resembled the immovable object to her unstoppable force, well, sometimes she needed to be stopped, or at least paused and redirected. And if sometimes his sadness overwhelmed him… Well, at least they were in it together, swimming in the deeps.

As Viktor unfastened his trousers, Hermione took his shirt off, sliding it down his arms to hang there while he was still using his hands. She lightly scraped her short nails over the muscles of his forearms, his biceps and she sighed in pleasure, contentment, and peace, pressing her face against his neck. He held her briefly after he kicked his trousers off, but then he, too, tended to his clothes. When he returned she pulled him to her and just held him, sighing and savoring the heat and texture of his skin against hers, gaining strength and perhaps too, giving it, just from being in his arms.

“We really are better together than apart,” she murmured somewhere in the region of his collarbone.

“Mm. Glad you agree, Sweet One.”

They bathed in something close to silence in the early hours of Christmas morning. The silence was punctuated by groans, the heavy sounds of gasps, and the light sounds of sighs. There was the occasional whimper. Sometimes names were mentioned, in the context of pleading, consent, and benediction. So it went, and so it continued once they were dry and sharing the large bed of their suite. No one tied anyone anywhere, except perhaps drawing tighter and more permanently the ties that bound them to each other. And that was, indeed, a beautiful Christmas present to both give and receive.

* * *

When Narcissa retired for the night she was more pleased with this Christmas Evening than any other she could recall since childhood. It wasn’t all perfect, of course. Nothing was  _ perfect.  _ But it was perfectly delightful. 

Everyone was so kind here and if anyone had a hidden agenda it was the Krums, but it was barely hidden at all: Sofia was determined to be the model mother-in-law which was entirely reasonable, and there was something else there, though Narcissa couldn’t see it yet. Something else, but not, she thought, something dire. Gregor was already slipping into the jovial grandfather role, though there was steel beneath, and Narcissa wondered what exactly had honed it and what kept it sharpened. Everyone else was entirely transparent.

Luna was actively seducing.

Draco was not resisting as hard as he once proclaimed.

Harry was broken, but healing. Sometimes it was like Narcissa could see through his cracks they were so large, and other times he seemed filled in an unbreakable happiness that she couldn’t actually fathom.

Ginny was constantly thinking. A bright and enterprising girl, she seemed to be a noticer of small details, and Narcissa respected her all the more for it.

Bill was restless and awkward, underneath the affable exterior. It was probably the facial scar. One could wear them with pride, her father had always said, or one could be an accessory to them. Probably no one talked about it around him, and the not mentioning it wasn’t helping.

Fleur was a delightful surprise and Narcissa appreciated her reflective nature and ready smile.

Helen and William were the least beguiling of all. They were just full of love. They loved each other. They loved their child. They were fully prepared to love everyone present, including herself. Including her son. They seemed entirely too good to be true, and Narcissa for the first time truly understood Hermione’s decision to obliviate them even as, for the first time, she understood the depth of what Hermione had been giving up.

Unconditional love.

Narcissa had heard about it. She was fairly certain she’d never received it, herself. She’d always tried to give it to Draco, but she knew she hadn’t succeeded, not really, not if she was entirely honest with herself.

And she had been so ready to hate Helen Granger, too.

And then a postal owl flew in her window and nearly dropped a letter in the tea she had only just set down as she thought. The owl hooted twice and left, and Narcissa was grateful her own owl Terrant was out hunting. It was a sign of sloppy training, to drop mail in food, and the old patriarch couldn’t abide by it.

Without touching it Narcissa pulled her wand and cast eight diagnostic spells, but it was nothing on any of them. She levitated the letter and spun it slowly, her eyes widening at the mark of the seal in the green wax.

The House of Fielding.

Eyes wide, she still took the standard precautions. Ten feet away from where the letter now lay on the floor, with a bubbleheaded charm firmly in place she opened it with a savage slashing curse from the Black Arsenal that would immediately send any time-sensitive or event-sensitive jinx rebounding back on their caster, and then she immediately cast a protego around herself. She waited for a count of two hundred. She wished she had brought her dragonhide apron and coat and then thought again.

“Tipsy?”

It took longer than usual for her elf to arrive, as she had undoubtedly disturbed her slumber.

“Yes, Mistress?” the elf asked, still putting her arms through the holes in her pillowcase. 

“I’m sorry for waking you, and thank you for coming so quickly. I find I’ve forgotten something quite important at home. Could you fetch my mail apron and coat?”

Tipsy gave her a look and Narcissa felt the chagrin of it, but she genuinely hadn’t thought she’d receive any mail over the holiday, at least not unsolicited mail.

Tipsy closed her eyes in concentration and snapped her fingers. The apron and coat lay gently over one of the transfigured settees.

“Thank you, my dear. That’s all.”

The elf nodded once and was gone.

Narcissa donned the gear, promising herself to take it wherever she travelled from now on because to think she could do otherwise had just been quite foolish. She understood that, now. She pulled the gloves from the pocket of the coat and put them on, pulling her wand once more.

Ready, finally, she opened the letter, dropping both letter and envelope to the floor. She analyzed how they fell, consistent with the weight of paper and wax. She cast four more diagnostic charms and then a fifth one because she was feeling a bit paranoid. The day had gone too well, come to think of it. But no, nothing.

Thus reassured, she stuck the letter to the wall with a mild sticking charm, cast a protego and came close enough to read it. She kept the dragonhide on and the bubbleheaded charm secure.

_ “The one time you don’t is the one time you needed to,” _ Uncle Orion had always said.

* * *

_ December 25, 199_  
_ _ St. Swithins-in-the-City Rectory, London _

_ To the Lady Malfoy, Countess Black, _

_ Greetings and best wishes to you on this Christmas morning. _

_ You have my sympathies for the deaths of your sister and your husband. _

_ It was all things pleasant to see you on Christmas Eve, and I understand from Her Majesty, your heir, that I will have the great pleasure of taking part in a house party with you over the New Year. I would hope we might have a moment to take tea together, though I understand if you are quite entirely busy with the task of co-coordinating. _

_ Yours,  
_ _ Michael Fielding+ _

* * *

Narcissa’s eyes widened as she read the formal and entirely correct letter. And yet…  _ And yet. _

It was filled with all the specific rhetoric they had laughed about when he courted her. It was one of the many things she adored about him. He could adhere rigorously to all of the conventions without taking a single one seriously. He always reminded her of what Sirius might have been, if he’d been raised by the Fieldings rather than the Blacks. Smiling, but still covered in dragonhide and keeping her protego firmly in place, she translated in her head.

“ _ Dear person I know quite well but who I am trying to impress, _

_ “What that we were on closer terms so I could just wish you a Happy Christmas like a normal bloke. _

_ “So. People you love died. I may or may not care about that, actually, but I care that you care, and that is close enough to the point to say something. _

_ “Either I loved seeing you a while ago, or I hated it but I have to acknowledge it within three days, but given the fact that I’m writing to you immediately, at midnight, you can understand that I’m absolutely panting to see you again. Be aware I’m on conversational terms with your heir and she is a delightful source of information for me. This is the warning shot over the bow and the olive branch both, depending on how you play it; I’ll seek out your company once and only once unless you forbid it, or unless you make it clear I’m welcome. _

_ “Signed the way I always signed to you and only you, Narcissa,  
_ _ “Michael Fielding, priest _

Narcissa released the protego, finited the bubbleheaded charm and took her mail apron and coat off and laid them back over the settee. She took the sheet of paper off the wall with gentle fingers and smelled the paper. No, no hint of anything. She picked the envelope off the floor on the way to the desk in her sitting room. 

* * *

_ December 25, 199_  
_ _ Cair Paravel, Wales _

_ To the Reverend Fielding, _

_ Greetings and best wishes to you this Christmas, as well. I hope your family are enjoying the best of times. _

_ Thank you for your kindly expressed sympathies. They were difficult people in the end, but even when death abounds, each one is hard for someone. _

_ It was quite a delight to see you in the pulpit. Your sermon was excellently done and I see you have lost none of your charm in the intervening years. I quite agree with your main point. The magic present is accessible to all, and that should bring us great comfort. _

_ I am thrilled to know that you will give the blessing at my heir’s handfasting on the 31st and while it is inevitable that at least three minor crises will occur each day of the festival, I am sure there will be ample time for tea. Perhaps you would consent to escort me to the Shakespearean play on the morning of the 1st? _

_ Decisively yours,  
_ _ Narcissa _

_ PS - if you haven’t been forewarned, bring swim trunks. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus points if you know which songs made Harry cry; extra bonus points if you're the first one to mention it in the comments. :) And if anyone is interested in a 'translation' of Narcissa's letter, let me know in the comments and I'll provide it. EDIT: Check the comment thread for this chapter. It's there.


	45. Chapter 37: Wherein the Inferi party like it's 1999.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is December 27th, and you are about to know way more about the first string players of the Inferi than you ever thought you'd get.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: a vivid memory of sexual assault. Skip Emile Warwick’s section if you’re in a fragile place. Alternately if you like angst, cue up ‘The Kiss’ from Last of the Mohicans and put it on repeat for the entire chapter. (It’s an Aaron Shafiq approved playlist of one.)

Chani Kaminski arrived moments after her husband and just before her four cousins and two nieces came streaming through the floo, though of course there was heavy floo traffic and she noticed that King Maker’s family was also coming through, along with Ironwood with some distant relatives and Spectacle and Dogsbody and their whole family as well, though of course that was normal for any Christmas party. The Big Guy’s family always came out enmasse, but then, he was the owner.

The Inferi had, as a group, decided that this was one of those years when every player’s distant relatives were bound to come with. Only the coaching staff had actual  _ children,  _ and of course the third-string players  _ felt  _ like children, but most professional quidditch players chose to defer having kids until after their careers were over, though many were quite happily married.

Really, the Inferi hadn’t come out with this many people to a party since the last time, some five years ago, that the team had mutually decided it was time for the Quince family to host them at their estate, The Orchard. And when the owner hosted the party, it was always a good one.

Chani wondered, really, what the party would be like this year.

Her Majesty, the war heroine,  _ the teenager,  _ Hermione Granger cum Black Pendragon.

Where does one even start in finding a nickname for that one? Would she even get a nickname? Would it be disrespectful?

Pavel cleaned her off and she took his arm, nodding to Bip as he came through with his family trailing behind.

There was a receiving line all queued up with Viktor and his Royal bride-to-be at the door across the gigantic room the floo was situated in, but apparently not the room any portion of the party was going to be centered in. Chani took a moment to look around her and soak it all in.

She and Pavel lived in a little cottage in the Hebrides near where her parents had lived their entire lives, and just off one of the dragon sanctuaries. It was calm, remote, and beautiful, if you didn’t mind inclement weather more often than not. Pavel worked mostly from home, except when he had to travel, which happened more often than one might imagine for a bespoke potioneer. Exotic ingredients didn’t gather themselves, and it was far more expensive to pay others to gather them. But it did mean they had the most fantastic and remote vacations together, places she’d never imagine to go without him.

Their cottage was comfortable with a very large potions lab in the basement and a fairly large greenhouse outside, but the inner living area was cozy and domestic and just perfect for two. If they ever decided to have children after all, they’d need to expand. But for now, it was perfect. She’d grown up in a cottage just like it, and so had Pavel, even if it was across the continent.

Little rural cottages could be depended upon existing no matter where one went, Chani had realized, when she had met Pavel on one of his expeditions to the dragon reserve, on one of her days off as she was going for a run through it. He ended up staying much longer on that particular expedition, and ended up going home with more than just the bits of dragon he’d come for.

But this place? It was nothing like home. But it did remind her of Hogwarts.

Stone. Everything was made out of grey stone. Everything was grand, though fairly simple in design. Everything had more space than it could possibly need. Emptiness. There was a sense of emptiness, despite the fact that the Inferi and family were flooding through the floo. Well, if the stories were right, it had been empty for really quite a long time, and even if there were no ghosts, which was unlikely, the stone would remember. The earth would remember. The fields and the forest and the water would remember. It always did, so her father said. 

Chani shook herself out of her sudden morose turn, which wasn’t like her at all. How odd. Her nieces were audibly oohing and aahing behind her, and her young cousins behind them were perhaps a bit more circumspect, but not much. Janine was still at Hogwarts, but everyone else had graduated at least a few years before, and two of her cousins who decided to come were older than she.

At thirty-two, Chimera was looking at the end of her career in a rather more looming way than when she and Pavel first met, ten years ago.

Still, she’d lasted long enough to win the national cup twice, play in the finals of the world cup once, and meet the Queen of Avalon.

Now, there was a thing. Viktor and his would-be. They met in school, apparently, but two more different people Chani couldn’t imagine. She, a valiant veteran who spent the last year killing Death Eaters for world freedom, or at least national freedom, he,… a quidditch pro. Really, the only thing they shared in common was that they were particularly plain looking people. It’s not that they were ugly, per se. They just weren’t… out of the common way, as Chani’s mother would have said. She was no great beauty, though she probably cleaned up nicely, as most women could. And Viktor… Even if he hadn’t broken his nose as often as he clearly had, photographers wouldn’t be running after him for his looks if they weren’t also running after him for his stardom. He seemed like a kind man, though, and Chani had always thought that kindness made a person more attractive. It made you see past large noses and disproportionate chins, past layers of fat or awkward gangliness.

Because that was never really the measure of who you were. Her mother had always said that, but of course Chani had to learn it the hard way in her first two years of being signed on a team, originally the Dementors in the second string. She had been swayed, back then, by a pretty face, long before she met Pavel. And she’d discovered, after the third one, that there was nothing underneath the prettiness but pettiness.

Chani sighed and removed her mind from the past and settled it firmly back in the present. Her parents would be asking to know all the details she could remember about her surroundings and the events, so she endeavored to memorize as much as she could.

Not many paintings. She would have expected more.

Old furniture. Huge banquet table. Entirely devoid of animals. Big staircase going up to the first floor, though she was unlikely to be invited on a tour, her mother would love it if she could manage one. Somehow there was very much a  _ feel  _ of Hogwarts, even though Chani couldn’t exactly figure out how or why, though maybe that was just the grey stone castle.

Chani wondered what kind of stone it was made of, but really, she had no idea at all.

The room smelled like cinnamon and nutmeg, and the large spruce tree that was decorated and not too far from the floo. That was the sort of thing she’d always been cautioned about as a child. Ashwinder meets dried out Christmas tree and then there’s no more cottage to speak of, but this being an expensive manor home - well, castle - there was probably an elf specially trained to catch Ashwinders when they hatch.

The line for receiving was moving along, though no queue moved as fast as one wanted, ever. Finally Chani was at the front of the line and was quite amused that the Lucky Dog wasn’t actually introducing his teammates primarily by their full name, but rather by nickname. Their full name was something of an afterthought.

Well, it certainly got worse than Chimera. It could have been Fancy Pants or Sparkle Toes or Gremlin or Fall Off.

Chani took Her Majesty’s hand and shook it only ever-so-slightly, while curtseying. The fact that no woman had done so before her didn’t mean she was going to be rude as well. 

The young queen in question may have been plain of feature, but she had a rich and comforting voice - not too high, not too low, and when she genuinely smiled there was a loveliness about her that instantly put the Inferi Keeper at ease.

Yet another person who was more than just the sum of their external details, Chani thought with relief.

Madam Kaminski proceeded to introduce to the young couple her husband, her two nieces, and her four cousins, all who bowed or curtseyed properly. Everyone was naturally delighted to meet everyone else and they were directed out of doors to where the party would take place, apparently the grounds, which yes, it was winter, but it was still only Wales for heavens’ sake. They would be outside, and in some of the outbuildings of the castle.

Chani was mildly disappointed that the party would occur in an outbuilding, until she walked out of doors and saw what ‘outbuilding’ looked like for the Pendragons.

_ “Bloody hell,” _ she breathed under her breath, taking in the gigantic single storey hymn to Roman Imperial Opulence that rose in her vision like quidditch hoops up close.

Pavel patted her hand on his arm as they walked forward and she could hear her nieces whispering and giggling about how Aunt Chani just swore in front of the Queen. A tiny part of her brain considered that she’d have to swear them to silence before their grandmother or else she would never hear the end of it from her mother, not until the day she died. Bribery might have to take place.

The rest of her brain was still in awe, and no longer cursing her luck at being entertained in an ‘outbuilding’.

* * *

Tarrant Fiorella was having the time of his life. Each of his arms was over the shoulder of a pretty witch he’d never met before and each one was dazzled by his charm and smouldering eyes. They’d retired to the sauna, where no one was just yet, and importantly where neither the Big Guy, nor Oh Merlin could be found. Most importantly of all, the girls had stripped down to bikinis that had Tarrant almost drooling.

One of the witches - the one without a single thought in her pretty head, and how she managed to get any OWLs at all was an almighty mystery - was cooing at him, reminding him that he had promised to tell them how he’d gotten his nickname.

_ Fancy Pants. _

Well, it was obvious, if you had more than owl down feathers for brains. But still, he’d promised, and he drew the story out as long and well as he could. He wasn’t a first string chaser just for the hell of it - he knew when to duck and dive, when to pass the quaffle and when to hold on for dear life and take the opening.

If he was lucky tonight he might take several.

When the other witch - what was her name? Tracy? Someone’s sister? Or something? - slid her hand down his swim trunks, Tarrant grinned and pulled his wand, casting his standard four spells for sex in semi-public places and then replaced his wand in his arm sheath even as Tracy - he was certain, Tracy, it had to be Tracy - pulled out his  _ other  _ wand and started pumping him. He gasped a little in pleasure and then groaned in pure happiness when the pretty feather-brain proved to them both just how much she could swallow whole.

* * *

Aaron Safiq sorted through the small row of records next to the gramophone. He loved music almost as much as he loved quidditch, and when he realized Plan B had a gramophone going in one of the front rooms of the big Roman building he gravitated to it immediately. Some good baroque, classical, and romantic composers, but from symphonies he’d never heard of, all muggle, apparently. He wondered briefly if muggle composers could possibly do Rimsky-Korsokov justice before looking at the titles that were totally unknown to him.

Dizzy Gilespie.

John Williams.

U2.

Philip Glass.

He looked through them all, scrutinizing them to the last details of all the information provided on the covers and the inside sleeves, so much so that his wife gave him up to it and said she’d hunt them up some food and come find him in a half hour.

Finally, at length, he chose a soundtrack, which he supposed was the muggle word for the score of a ballet. John Williams was, apparently, a great composer of ballets, but he’d never heard of him, so he must be muggle as well.

The curtain parted and a young man came in with a snake around his shoulders, which didn’t phase Bip in the slightest, as his family had always kept a herpetarium, even if they didn’t often wear their snakes as accessories.

“I thought I heard the dulcet tones of Indiana Jones,” the young man said as he came closer, though the first string beater only gave him a passing glance.

“You know this stuff? This is great stuff!” Aaron said, still studying the description on the back and trying to make sense of some of what it said.

“Yeah, you should see the movie,” the young man said, coming closer, “Even better than just the soundtrack alone, though of course it’s easy to remember every scene, just by listening.”

Aaron looked up, his brow furrowed. “What’s a movie?”

“Well, it’s sort of like a play, except it’s been recorded and then the recording is highly edited to make everything seem quite realistic, and not like it’s on a stage, and then they overlay music like this gorgeous soundtrack over certain scenes, and then they show it in theatres all around the world, and sell copies you can watch at home, if you have the right equipment.”

Aaron, in a musical world all his own, looked over at the young man with the snake and totally didn’t register any of the tell-tale signs of who this young man might be. Intent on his purpose, instead he asked the all important question of the moment. “Do you know if Plan B, I mean Viktor, has that specialized equipment?”

The man-in-the-know put his hands in his pockets and put a rueful look on his face. “I happen to know he doesn’t.”

Aaron took the bull by the horns. “Do you know  _ anyone  _ who does?” He held up the LP’s colorful sleeve with a rugged looking wizard in an old-style hat on it. 

“Uh, yeah. I do. I mean, it’s in storage right now, probably, but I’ll have a room set up to watch movies in when I move back in. Renovations,” he shrugged. “But we also own that movie, and other ones John Williams has done the score for.” Then the young man looked at the snake who had been moving about, grinned, and hissed at him extensively. It looked like they were having a conversation, but that was a bizarre thought so Aaron put it out of his mind.

“This is a muggle thing, right? Because I’ve  _ never  _ heard about this. How did you get into  _ movies?”  _

The young man looked around as if for an answer and ended up just silently shrugging. Well, it was not a problem if he had muggle-born friends and didn’t want to mention it. After all, the Queen was muggle-born, and so it was all supposed to be alright, now, purebloods associating with muggle-borns. Aaron’s mother had sent him a letter on the subject, but Bip really only cared about quidditch and music and while muggles obviously didn’t have quidditch, it seemed they had  _ music.  _ Ergo, they were sane and civilized people and worthy of respect.

Conversation lagged for a bit as they continued to listen intently and the young man continued to have a pretend conversation with his snake, but whatever. Wizards were sometimes a little off their nut, though it was sad to see it in one so young. Inbreeding. It really needed to stop, but then one is left marrying muggles, and that’s the tricky bit. How do you sift out the good ones from the bad ones?

The music shifted and changed and Bip’s full attention was caught again by the changing moods of the score and it took him a moment to realize his new friend - never did catch his name - was gone, but when he turned around, cursing himself for not asking about movie viewing earlier, he realized the young man had just sat down behind him and let his snake shift around a bit.

“Oh. Whew. Thought you’d left. Man, you’ve got to let me come over and watch these movies. You know, after the renovations are done.”

The young man laughed. “I’m not even sure who you  _ are.” _

“Oh, right.” He shifted the album cover into his left hand and strode over with his hand extended. “Bip. Number two. First string beater. Aaron Sapphire Romeo Shafiq to my mother. My wife’s around here somewhere getting us something to eat, but she knows how I get about music. I’ll introduce her when she comes back.”

They shook hands and the young man pardoned himself for not getting up, but clearly he had a case of draping snake, and it was a fair-sized one, too.

“And you are?” Aaron asked, wondering whose little brother he was, or maybe cousin or something. Couldn’t have been the son of any of the coaching staff. First, he was pretty certain he knew them all, second, he didn’t look a thing  _ like  _ any of them.

The young man introduced himself with a surprising number of names, so much so that it took Aaron a minute to put together just the first one and the last one.

Then he saw the scar.

_ Riiiiight.  _

* * *

Alexi Andreovich hauled his little girl up and over his head and settled her on his shoulders. His wife, Irina, tutted him in Russian, but then continued to have a conversation with Plan B Lucky Dog’s mother quite comfortably in their own language. She was a charming woman of a certain age who had a very pleasant accent and excellent grammar, even if it was obvious Russian wasn’t her best language. English hadn’t come as easily to Irina as to himself, not that he was particularly fluent, he just didn’t particularly care, and she did.

Alexi left his wife to enjoy her conversational partner and took himself and his offspring to see what there was to see and to see if there was anything that might interest his little girl.

There weren’t so many small children among the crowd today, but then there never were at these things. He and Irina hadn’t wanted to wait to have children, but it left them a bit out with the three teams he’d been on in his career. Still, his teammates were mostly quite good about it, moreso with the Inferi than with the Minotaurs, which had been his last club, in France.

Certain to find something interesting, even if it was just farm animals, Alexi went off in a hopeful mood and was not disappointed in the least. Very quickly they managed to be a team of two in what they had been assured was an epic lawn croquet tournament and in which they came in third, which wasn’t bad considering Ivana’s capacity, as a seven year old, to make the ball go anywhere near where she wanted it to go. That capacity wasn’t particularly large, but then there were worse players on other teams and they were much older and had fewer excuses. Still, the game was good for a laugh.

First place went to the Queen’s parents, Helen and William, very nice people, for muggles. Second place went to Gremlin and Growler who decided to try their luck together and it went fairly well for them. Alexi and Ivana ranked a very satisfactory third. Fourth went to the cousins of Cake Boy, fifth to Starlight and her boyfriend, and sixth (along with ignominy forever) went to the owner of the Inferi, Shelton Quince, and his lovely wife Matilda.

Once it was over, Starlight and her boyfriend asked if anyone wanted to play badminton with them and accepted Alexi and Ivana as opponents they probably thought easy to conquer.

Alas, hitting things with racquets was something his little girl was fairly proficient in, but he wouldn’t be the first to tell them. And despite being a first string chaser, Sparkle Toes was fairly good at hitting things, himself. They had a little conference in Russian that drew the Saint and Ironwood over to observe and listen in, and had them smothering laughter.

“I think we’ve been had, hun,” Starlight said to her boyfriend, Kurt, as she did some shoulder stretches.

“She’s seven. We can totally take her,” he said with great confidence.

Alexi turned so their opponents couldn’t see, as he continued to explain some of the nuance and strategy of the game to his little tennis savant in the other language in which she was fluent. They had gotten an English nanny who knew enough Russian to get by and so early on they had alternated days between the two languages, and it worked wonders. Ivana had no accent in either language.

“I’m sort of remembering what could be a pertinent detail about Alexi’s daughter, babe. It’s possible she was born with a tennis racket in her hand.”

“Oh, Lord and butter, really? But it can’t be that bad. I mean, she’s seven. Right? I mean, how good can a seven year old really be?” Kurt asked, and Ironwood and the Saint howled with laughter.

_ “And now, we crush them, yes?”  _ Alexi asked his daughter with a grin, getting into position, still speaking his mother tongue.

_ “We crush them!”  _ Ivana replied with a gleam in her eyes. Then it faded and she was sweet childhood innocence again as she turned and spoke in a perfect English accent, “We’re ready now!”

Helga and Kurt never knew what hit them, and lost 20-0. After the obligatory handshake, Alexi put Ivana back on his shoulders and raced her around the court for not one victory lap, but two, to the sounds of the laughter of his little girl and the bitter groans of adults who really should have known better.

* * *

Li Jael Archimedes Graves MacAster wandered back to her mother, the Head Coach of the Inferi and saw the look in her eye that told her all her nonchalance was for naught. Her mother saw right through her. Well, that wasn’t unusual. It was a trait of all the Graves women, apparently.

She hadn’t seen her mother in two years, as she had been traveling and studying with Grandmother both in Long Island and throughout China, but when she got the message from her mother about the party, Grandmother had shooed her away to have some fun and spend some time with her mother and they would pick up again in the Chinese New Year.

Li, her mother, and her Grandmother, had all been educated in China, despite being American, though of course Grandmother had taught briefly at Hogwarts. Apparently they went through Defense instructors like water.

She took a sip of a drink and gave her mother a grin.

“You look like the cat who got into the cream,” her mother pointed out wryly and in an undertone.

Li quirked an eyebrow in question.

Her mother nodded once, slowly, in acceptance.

Li pulled her wand and cast  _ Cherry Blossoms at Rest  _ which surrounded them in a ring of still cherry blossom petals, resting gently on the ground, and gave them ten minutes of conversational privacy ahead and twenty seconds of fuzzy memory behind. No one could hear them or read their lips. No one could intuit their energy. No one would notice them at all during that time, though the blossoms would have to be gotten rid of afterwards. Or they would have done, if anyone here knew the meaning of their presence, which they likely didn’t.

“I’m listening,” her mother pointed out in the imperious tone she definitely had gotten from Grandmother.

“Yeah, I just snogged Neville Longbottom.  _ The  _ Neville Longbottom.”

Her mother’s eyes widened. “I’m not sure that’s entirely appropriate. Is he even of age?”

Li rolled her eyes. Her mother was her confidant in all things, but there were still  _ moments.  _ “Of course, Mother. I follow the news. I know he’s one of the eighth-years, and thus he is eighteen. Please. Give me some credit. And we were discreet.”

“How discreet?” her mother asked with narrowed eyes.

“Two spells and in the lavatory. I got the impression it wasn’t his first snog of the day. Still, he doesn’t give the impression of being a lad. Or a manwhore like Terrant, who yes, I am still staying away from. Besides, I posed it as a thank you kiss, and then slipped him my name and address, you know, just in case he has a hankering to visit New York or Fuyan Province.”

“That’s a long shot,” her mother warned her.

Li leaned in to kiss her mother’s cheek. “I know, Mom. I’m not getting my hopes up. Though I do have my exotic good looks to recommend me,” she said with a cheeky grin. “I’m pretty sure I know which other girls propositioned him. Trust me, Mom. I’ve got a headstart in personality and looks.”

Her mother sighed and rolled her eyes. “Beauty fades, my pretty thing. Don’t count on it lasting. It won’t. Cultivate more humility, Midi. True humility, not that quiescent thing you try to pass off as it.”

Li snorted. “Humility? You and Grandmother both harp on that, but neither one of you has it.”

Her mother shot her a poisonous glare. “True humility is knowing your place in the order of things as being no higher and no lower than it actually is. We know our place and we reside there in confidence. You, Liung Jael Archimedes, have  _ yet _ to find your cat, you have  _ yet _ to know your true self, you  _ hide _ behind the beauty of a face that will  _ wrinkle and age and leave you bereft, _ and if you continue to do so, when it does you will feel  _ shattered _ and peace will be  _ that _ much harder to find. Have your travels with my mother taught you  _ nothing?” _

The urge to cry was keen, but Li blinked hard and took a deep breath. God, she  _ hated  _ disappointing her mother.

“I’m sorry, Mom. I’ll work harder.”

Her mother pulled her into a hug and Li melted into it.

“I love you, little Midi. You just need to grow up some more. It pains me, but it is true.”

Li wordlessly nodded against her mother’s shoulder, still clinging to her.

“And don’t disrespect your Grandmother. She has fourteen purple hearts and a phoenix, not to mention mastery over more martial arts then you’ll ever bother to learn.”

“She’s teaching me nei gung,” Li said, sniffing and maybe just a little bit defensive.

“Well, that’s something. And it will help,” her mother said, patting her back and taking a moment to dry her daughter’s eyes before the spell for privacy ended entirely. 

Her mother gave her a kiss on the cheek and then the spell ended, and the moment was over, the social masks back on, and Ring Master introduced her daughter to the charming people she was speaking with before, one of her first string players she would not be sad to call son-in-law and the reformed death eaters, Narcissa and Draco Malfoy.

* * *

Michael Sheal was eating. This was normal. Michael Sheal was almost always eating. Not a thin man, nor an obese one he was, all the same, a gigantic man and a fair match for his first string beating partner, Aaron Safiq, who was the six foot five inch monochrome mirror image of him, but where Aaron tended to shovel in vast quantities of proteins, carbs, veggies, and the occasional fat and then go off and do other things, Michael wanted to take it slowly. Savor. Small bites. Small plates. Vast variety. Perfect pairings. The wine that enhances the meat that brings out the flavor of the cheese.

Early on, before their matching nicknames were acquired, when they were still getting to know one another, they realized that what for Aaron was music, for Michael was food. And neither did one get between Michael and his food, nor did one get between Michael and finding out  _ about  _ his food. How it was sourced. Who cooked it. How they did it. Purely elf-magic, purely wizarding-magic, half and half, or entirely the old fashioned way, which was to Michael, the most exquisitely flavored method of all, when done properly.

Michael was a pureblood who had always profoundly appreciated the muggle world, if only for their Michelin starred restaurants, which were obviously a high artform which required, for sustenance, the rest of the culture to remain stable. 

If one put the self same dish in front of Michael, eight variations, cooked by eight different people, some muggles, some wizards, some elves, while blindfolded he could tell you which had been done at least partially with magic, and which had been done by humans.

Michael had attended Hogwarts (of course) and so the moment, the very  _ moment,  _ he took a bite of a canape, he knew that it was the same elves who had cooked his meals for seven years who had prepared the spread before him. He sought them out, which was rather more difficult than when he was in the Badger den, but it wasn’t impossible, and that was when he saw that somehow the Queen had elf-napped all the Hogwarts elves.

Not that he cared. This was more convenient, really.

All the elves that specialized in cooking he knew by sight, and had learned them all, their names and their genealogies and their specialities in cookery by the time his second year was over, and he greeted them like the old friends they were.

Head of Kitchens Crissy, daughter of Greer, eventually was persuaded to come out of the kitchen and when she saw him, threw herself at his legs and hugged them. “Little Mikey!” she squealed in delight. “Little Mikey is full-grown now! No one has ever loved our food more than Little Mikey!”

Michael blinked away a single tear and grinned down at the mob of a dozen elves forming around him. “So, are you guys here, now, or are you just visiting from Hogwarts?” he asked them all, but really directed the question to Head of Kitchens as a matter of politesse.

“No, Little Mikey, we are Pendragon Elves and always have been. Only Hufflepuff Elves remain now at the school, but they will manage.”

“Oh, Crissy, the kitchen is not going to be the same without you!” he said, only partially meaning to flatter because it was entirely true as well.

The elf beamed up at him. “Is Little Mikey friends with The Pendragon? We have not known you to be here before or we would have greeted you properly.”

Michael translated easily in his head. “No, I’ve only just met Her Majesty. I work with her fiance, Viktor Krum. We’re on the same professional quidditch team, the Inferi.”

Crissy narrowed her eyes. “Bad name. Not good to pretend to be undead.”

Michael shrugged and nodded. “That’s what my mother thinks, too. The name is pretty gruesome, but the team is good, they play well, and the people are all pretty high-quality, too. Good owner, good head coach, you know? We just try to ignore the name. I think that’s why we all have weird nicknames.”

“What is Little Mikey’s weird nickname?” Crissy asked, the other elves standing around and still taking a break from serving or cooking anything at all at present.

“Bop.”

Crissy’s eyes narrowed. “Bop is an elf name,” she admonished. “Little Mikey, you are too big and too human to be an elf,” she pointed out.

Michael shrugged and grinned. “I know, but now that you mention it, it does sound very elfish, doesn’t it? Well, some of my favorite people are elves, you know,” he said, looking directly at the former Head of Hogwarts Kitchens.

It was a long moment before Crissy’s expression softened. “Little Mikey, you may use the elf name, Bop. I, Crissy, daughter of Greer, daughter of Mory of the House of Pendragon allow it. We shall refrain from naming our children Bop during your lifetime out of deference. Kneel, Bop.”

Michael’s eyes widened and one small part of his brain wondered what in the name of Merlin he had just done, but the rest of him kneeled automatically. He watched as Crissy pulled her right arm back into her pristinely white pillowcase with the embroidered dragon blazon, and when she pulled it out again, two of her fingertips were… bloody.

Michael’s eyes widened further.

“Bop you are and Bop you shall be, and that the clan of Bop be strengthened, you may have Pendragon blood. Bound I am to the ties of my family and clan and house, but if you have need, you may call upon Crissy and Crissy will come, for Bop and Crissy are friends now and ever more.”

She put her bloody fingers on his forehead first, and then with a sweeping gesture that unbuttoned his shirt down to his breastbone, her fingers touched his heart, and Michael Adrian  _ Bop _ Fielding Sheal felt the overwhelming presence of magic the likes of which he hadn’t felt since he first held his wand when he turned eleven.

“Has the House of Sheal any house elves?” Crissy asked, her hands now at her sides, though Bop was still kneeling down, and thus almost at eye level.

“My great-great aunt has two, but they’re very old. That’s it.”

“In ten years we will dedicate an elfling to the House of Sheal, and to your care. Have you means to train such an elfling?”

Michael’s eyes widened as he sat back on his heels. They were gathering a crowd of onlookers, beyond the crowd of elves, but he didn’t care. “I… I’m not sure… I think... probably… not, I’m sorry. I have no idea what’s involved.”

Crissy nodded sagely. “We will train the elfling for the House of Sheal for five years, and we will train  _ you  _ when she is ready to enter your service. You would wish her trained primarily for the kitchen?” Crissy added, ending on a smirk.

Michael grinned. “Of course!”

Crissy nodded again. “Do not fail to greet your friend Crissy when you next visit Cair Paravel, Stronghold of the Northwestern Crossing. The Pendragon will be informed of our friendship, and as she is good and kind, she will not bar your visitation.”

Michael blinked, but easily accepted the hug Crissy offered, him. “Thank you, friend,” he whispered, his eyes closed and he was not at all sure what had just happened, but he had the distinct feeling that whatever it was, it was bloody important and he needed to tell his wife immediately.

Almost immediately.

For now, he needed to hug his old friend whom he had not seen in years.

* * *

Emile Warwick was chatting with Ring Master and a distant cousin and her son. It was an easy conversation, but not one Emile ever thought to actually hold with said cousin or her son, really. Until very recently, of course. 

Emile’s great-grandfather had been a Black, though a distinctly cadet branch of the tree, and then of course Emile’s grandmother was one of twelve sisters which had gotten great-grandpapa kicked out of that particular tree.

Misogynistic bastards.

Emile did not, xherself, carry the Black name and that was just as well. Emile had other issues that would not have been made pleasanter by the association nor the influence.

Born androgynous, Emile had, since xher fifth birthday, been given the choice by xher parents which gender, if either, xhe wished to associate with.

When Emile was five, she decided to be a girl.

At six, he decided to try out this ‘being a boy’ thing. 

The alternation continued for some years.

At eleven, Emile decided to be a girl throughout Hogwarts, supported entirely by her parents and her younger brother who was monogendered. Upon her graduation, Emile came out to her friends quietly, and as one they thought it was absolutely thrilling to be a girl with a penis, though Emile was quick to point out that he was also a boy with a vagina.

Since graduation, and with the support of xher family and friends, Emile decided to be neither girl, nor boy, but what xhe was. Androgynous.

Not a metamorphmagus.

Not gay, except in the very broadest of senses.

Not transgendered.

Effectively bisexual. Sort of. But not quite, and not exactly the  _ most _ salient point.

Just for curiosity’s sake, and duly reporting back to family and friends, Emile spent two weeks taking polyjuice potion. Xhe spent one week as a monogendered man, and one week as a monogendered woman. It was… odd. Then xhe spent a week taking polyjuice of  _ xherself  _ just to see what oddness might be the potion, and what oddness might be the gender.

Regardless, as xhe grew up, Emile’s parents taught xher the proper manners and mannerisms of each gender and then after much discussion (and argument) Emile and xher mother figured out an appropriate middle ground, though to be honest, Emile was sometimes happy to just pass.

Unnoticed.

Unremarked upon.

Unhexed.

Of course, sometimes it was Emile who did the hexing. Terrant Fiorella, for instance, got a solid ball-crusher. It wasn’t permanent, of course. That would require time in Azkaban. And xhe didn’t rat him out to the manager, though of course Oh, Merlin had figured it out pretty quickly and figured out too, why such a pointed hex might have been necessary. Emile was fined 500 galleons for hexing a fellow player, which was clear, obvious, and needed no corroboration, though it was not, in fact, reported to any news outlet.

And when Emile was questioned first by Oh, Merlin and then by the Big Guy on  _ why  _ xhe might have felt the need to crush xher teammate’s balls, and the teammate known to be unable to keep snake-in-trou, and reminded firmly that anyone, of course would be fired immediately should they be found guilty of sexually harassing a teammate, Emile just said nothing at all.

Emile was quite good, actually, at saying nothing at all.

Even though for a long time after, xhe could still feel the unwanted hand, groping past xher penis and balls, trying to find xher mons and clit, hot breath in xher ear saying something vulgar that couldn’t be clearly remembered, the unwanted naked body rubbing against the back of xhers, just before xhe roared in outrage, shame across xher face in the middle of the locker room, in front of the entire male cohort of first, second, and third string players who had stood in shock and in various state of similar undress. An elbow into the solar plexus, wind knocked out of the presumptuous, misogynistic bastard who staggered back, fell over a bench bolted to the floor and knocked his head against the hardwood of the lockers behind.

Then the hex.

Then the promise.

_ “Touch me again and die.” _

The next day there was 500 galleons sitting in the bottom of xher locker, which xhe had left there for another five years, three months, and twenty-eight days.

For the next month, none of the players spoke to Terrant, not a single word, and though Sparkle Toes as well as King Maker xherself practiced and honed their chasing technique together with Mr. Fiorella, they managed just fine in silence. 

Bludgers came Mr. Fiorella’s way, perhaps just a shade more often that month and certainly Fine In A Day’s remedies seemed not quite as effective as usual for such an accomplished healer, and twice more in the month Emile was brought before Oh, Merlin and asked again to be told what exactly had happened, whereas Ring Master asked weekly a simple pair of questions -  _ “Are you okay? What do you need?” _

With the Head Coach Emile broke down and cried in her arms, the first week, and each week thereafter. With the Manager Emile kept xher peace and it was only when xhe spoke a single word to Mr. Fiorella in the locker room -  _ “Move.” -  _ only then did her teammates relent. The bludgers stopped coming when he apologized. The healer started healing effectively only when he apologized a second and far more sincere time.

Three years later in a slightly inebriated heart-to-heart in a pub after a game, Emile explained to Terrant Fiorella why it was inappropriate to go around grabbing people’s genitals. It was the sort of conversation xhe might expect to have with a twelve year old, honestly. But it apparently helped. Mr. Fiorella was under the impression that everyone loved sex and everyone loved a good grope, ergo everyone automatically consented to his affections.

Emile Warwick was happy to point out the present and obvious logical fallacy in the most strident of terms and was eventually joined by half the first string of the team who crowded into the booth with them explaining that if anyone had done what Fancy Pants had to their little brother or sister, they would have hexed that person’s hand off right then, no argument, damn the consequences.

Five years, three months, and twenty-nine days after the incident, Emile had forgiven Terrant for rampant idiocy and flagrant narcissism which seemed to xher far worse than the actual groping, at least in hindsight.

They would never be  _ friends  _ of course. Terrant was too much of a baseline idiot for Emile to actually want to spend social time in his company, especially after spending an entire work week in his company. But they could be teammates. They could be chasers together. They could work as a seamless triad, Emile, Terrant, and Alexi. King Maker, Fancy Pants, and Sparkle Toes. They could pose for pictures with arms around each other’s waists and Emile could feel safe, genuinely safe, and not just because every single member of the team would help xher hide the body if necessary.

If, perhaps, xher teammates hadn’t rallied around xher, xhe might have sought for a trade rather soon after being recruited. But no, Emile would stay until xhe retired, or until xhe was benched, whether or not xhe continued to be the Captain of the Inferi. 

When Emile told xher parents what had happened, years later, they wondered why xhe still played for the Inferi.

“Because they love me, Mum. They support me. And Idiot Boy has learned his lesson. If he had been fired immediately, would he have? Maybe. But probably not, knowing him. He would have continued his stupid, resentful, idiotic, narcissistic, mysogynistic ways. This way, he was punished. He got to experience the consequences of his mistake. And eventually…  _ eventually _ he figured out why it was wrong. He’s a better person now. And even though it was hard to go through, I had support. And I’m not saying I’d want to do it over and over again with every new idiot. Because maybe they wouldn’t all learn their lessons quite so easily, and that would get awfully tiring, I should think. But he’s a better person now, and I can take some responsibility for that.”

And then Emile admitted the true source of xher nickname. Not just a historical reference. But the whole team agreed. They trusted Emile’s judgment above all else, and so xhe was duly dubbed.

King Maker.

Emile smiled at xher conversational partners as they stood in the beautiful garden of the central courtyard of the fascinating Roman building in Wales. Talk of the origin of nicknames always made xher nostalgic for lessons learned and sometimes the hard way.

The Countess Black hadn’t noticed when Ring Master seamlessly disappeared as her daughter walked up, though it did take practice to see through her Chinese magic. Instead the Countess smoothly transitioned the conversation from asking Ring Master about her charming nickname into asking Emile about xhers.

Emile smiled gently and took a sip of champagne. With an elegant lift of a brow and a tiny shoulder shrug xhe purred, “They trust my judgment. And I don’t abuse their trust.”

* * *

Hermione had no idea who was approaching her. None. Sure, it was a wife of a player, but which witch was which? No clue. Still, she smiled upon approach and prepared herself for yet more small talk with a stranger and she’d just  _ deal.  _

“Hello, enjoying the party?” she asked, her typical opening salvo for the afternoon.

“I am, thank you, Ma’am. I just- I just wanted to say, well, thank you. I’ve always hated getting so dressed up for every match, and after you refused during the national semi-finals, well, we all had a good chat about it. And, well, most of us came out with it and we were honest that, well, we found it ridiculous.”

Hermione did not smile. She did not grin. She plastered a relatively innocent look of interest on her face and squished down the inner child who wanted to crow in victory.

“And well, you know, they’re good ladies at heart, you know. I mean, you haven’t really seen us at our best, perhaps, and I apologize for that. And some of us have had to follow our partners and give up our language and our countries and our family and our friends and sometimes it’s just… it’s hard. That’s not an excuse,” she hastened to add, and Hermione’s heart melted a little, because the woman who had approached her was clearly a native Briton and hadn’t had to give up anything of the sort, but she could see how hard it still was for other spouses of her husband’s teammates.

And it made her think of Viktor, and all he was giving up, and all she wanted to give him in return.

Hermione smiled. “All is forgiven,” she said quietly. And then she looked into the other woman’s eyes and saw the embarrassment, the shame. Hermione changed the subject. “Have you had a tour of the castle?” she asked brightly.

A small smile on the anonymous woman’s face. “No, Your Majesty.”

“Well, come on. It’s fascinating.” Hermione shifted her glass of sparkling peach juice to the other hand and informally looped her arm through her companion’s and as they made their way through, they picked up a little train of interested people who ended up joining them on the guided tour. Eventually Hermione picked up from conversation that she had her arm looped with Madam Nefertiti Shafiq, wife of one of the first string beaters.

Bit of a relief, that, to finally get her name again. This time Hermione was determined to remember it.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did anyone noticed how gorgeously symmetrical this chapter is? No? You just want to know about all the Inferi Nicknames? Well, I understand.
> 
> First string: 01, Keeper, Chani Kaminski, Chimera. 02, Beater, Aaron Shafiq, Bip. 03, Beater, Michael Sheal, Bop. 04, Chaser, Alexi Andreovich, Sparkle Toes. 05, Chaser, Captain, Emile Warwick, King Maker. 06, Chaser, Tarrant Fiorella, Fancy Pants. 07, Seeker, Viktor Krum, Plan B Lucky Dog.
> 
> Second string: 08, Keeper, Julius O'Toole, Hard Craft. 09, Beater, Julia Sweet, Gremlin. 10, Beater, Sandy Shortcake, Growler. 11, Chaser, Irina Petronova, The Saint. 12, Chaser, Domino Constantino, Cake Boy. 13, Chaser, Natalia Variminoff, Ironwood. 14, Seeker, George Greenwood, Robin of the Hood.
> 
> Third string: 15, Keeper, Tracy Harding, Fell Off. 15, Beater, Gabriel Fielding, Angel. 17, Chaser, Helga Wainwright, Starlight. 18, Seeker, Shelly Ann Baker, Shaker.
> 
> Coaches & Staff: Head Coach, Xena Jael Michele Graves Lieung MacAster, Ring Master. Seeker Coach, Michelle Hereafter, Kraken. Keeper Coach, Emery Joseph, Out. Beater Coach, Ellory James, Sillifer. Chaser Coach, Pseudo Krantz, Fluffy. Manager, Glorfindel Smith, Oh Merlin. Assistant Manager, Lily Quince, Dogsbody. Assistant Manager, David Quince, Spectacles. Owner, Shelton Quince, Big Guy.


	46. Chapter 38: Wherein Dudley meets an aristocrat during his weekend retreat at a castle in Wales.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Actually, Dudley meets an aristocrat, Luke Skywalker, and Elizabeth Windsor. Actually.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It begins. 
> 
> Welcome to December 31st. We'll be staying here for a great many chapters.

“Hello! Anyone home?” 

Dudley Dursley heard the halloing from the kitchen where he was putting a few protein bars into his knapsack.

“Be right there!” he called out, putting a few water bottles in his bag as well. He was already packed and had his suitcase at the door.

His parents had left for Majorca three days ago. His father was incensed, but his mother quietly slipped him four hundred pounds and a disposable camera. She whispered to him as she gave him one last hug before she left, “Say hello for me, and take me some pictures, alright? And have an absolutely wonderful time, Duddy.”

Harry had warned him that he wouldn’t be picking him up, and if he could get his hands on some sea-sickness tablets and take them well before travel, it might make things easier. So he had, two hours ago, and now it was time to go be polite to a wizard he hadn’t seen in a number of years.

His cousin’s father-in-law.  _ His distant uncle. _

He was incredibly nervous, though his stomach was settled, thanks to the tablets. He hadn’t the best track record encountering wizards. There was the pig’s tail, though he perhaps deserved that one. Then there was the insanity of his ever-expanding tongue. And then the dementors, and though he couldn’t see them he didn’t at all doubt that they existed. He had  _ felt  _ them just fine.

But that was behind him, now. He and Harry had a tentative truce going for the last several years, and in the last six months as Dudley settled in at Uni and Harry went back to finish his interrupted seventh year, they’d corresponded occasionally. It wasn’t a great friendship, but it was almost… nice. And it was easier, just easier to be kind when not living at home. Easier not to be thoughtlessly cruel.

Dudley almost didn’t tell his parents just who had invited him to stay over New Years, and when he finally did, it didn’t go over well. Also, he possibly could have said it better. Mum had been pestering him, though, all through the break as to which friend had asked him, and where exactly he was going, and what their house was like.

He should have talked to her privately, but the point at which he couldn’t take it anymore, his father happened to be in the room.

“It’s a castle in Wales, okay?” He went to his room after that, but of course they followed him.

His mother was cooing and his father planning his wardrobe, wanting to know how old the castle was, and if it was one of those being let out as a guesthouse, or if his friends, the owners, were peers, or perhaps just landed gentry? And then his mother started daydreaming about him meeting his future wife there and his father was planning to tell him all he  _ didn’t  _ know about how to shoot pheasant and play polo and tennis, and then chastising him for not mentioning anything before they had bought Christmas presents for him, and that they should also get something for his host, and  _ then  _ they started reviewing manners as if only quite suddenly now they became important and it was when Dad started in on ugly comparisons with Harry that Dudley just sort of… burst.

“It’s Harry, okay? Harry invited me, and I’m going, and that’s it.” He had meant to say, ‘that’s it, that’s I’ll I’m telling you,’ but of course that’s when the yelling began, and to be quite honest, Dudley’s bedroom just wasn’t large enough for his parents both to properly have hysterics in it.

His mother was white as a sheet and his father looked apoplectic in his rage and it only took half a second for Dudley to decide which one needed his help. Dudley took a deep breath, took his mother by the hand and led her to his bed so she could lie down for a moment, and then faced off against this father.

Dudley stood between his parents, his shoulders square and never so glad to have turned much of his fat into muscle, though he still wasn’t quite there yet, not to where he wanted to be to go out for the rugby team in the spring. 

“Dad,” he said quietly, in a pause. “Mum’s not feeling well. Perhaps you should go downstairs and get her some water.”

They both knew that Vernon Dursley was only good for so many trips up the stairs per day, and that if he went downstairs again he wouldn’t be back up until after dinner.

His father narrowed his eyes, but left the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

Sweat had broken out on Dudley’s brow and he wiped it away as he took a deep breath and pulled his desk chair up to the side of his bed. When his mother held his hand and pleaded to know everything, he told her. Well, he told her what he knew, which he hardly imagined was everything. But of course she wouldn’t know any of Harry’s news.

The war was over. He’d avenged his mother’s death. He’d nearly died. He was married. He wanted to become a librarian. Someone was giving him a townhouse in London, his godfather’s house, who had died a while ago. He was going to receive a knighthood. He and one of his friends had become magical siblings, and it was her castle. She was getting married on the 31st. And then crowned magical queen of England. Yes, he would be staying in the same castle as QEII. Harry had met the Prince of Wales, with whom he was a regular correspondent, thus making Harry… a Peer.

When Dudley told his mother quietly that Harry was going to be made a duke, because of his sister, his mother had a coughing fit. And then a crying fit.

The next day his mother went shopping and returned with several packages which she brought quietly to his room and shut the door.

For Harry as a wedding present, there was a tall crystal vase with a pair of matching candlesticks. For his sister as a combination coronation and wedding gift, there was a wide, low crystal bowl with two matching crystal candelabras. 

They were all Waterford. 

Dudley blinked, wondering just how much his mother had shelled out. 

And there were cards, for which she very carefully discussed what to say and how to say it with him and waited as he wrote them out. She wrapped the presents with him, affixed the cards and then put them all carefully back into the large shopping bag.

“I… don’t feel the need,” his mother quietly said, once the deed was all done, “to mention any of these details to your father. It would only upset him, I think. Now, does your suit still fit?” He nodded and she continued, “Bring it down and I’ll press it before you pack it up. Your father and I will be going to Spain for New Years. He says its for my nerves, but I think we both know it’s for his. If you can think of anything you need, anything at all, Dudley, just go and get it and put it on the card, alright?”

He thanked his mother and set to making a list of what he probably should be bringing with him, instead of doing what he normally did - just throw everything in several suitcases and hope for the best.

And then at the last moment his mother had slipped him the camera and several hundred pounds before she left, holding him tightly as his father honked the horn from the driveway.

As he buckled his knapsack and hoisted it on both shoulders, he went out into the hallway, trying to take deep breaths. He forced something like a smile on his face as he came through the kitchen door and into the hallway to see the older, red-headed wizard waiting for him by the front door.

“Sorry to have made you wait, sir,” he said, not sounding near as nervous as he felt. He stuck out his hand. “Dudley Dursley, and thank you very much for coming to get me.”

A wry smile melted the stern features of the wizard as he took the proffered hand. “Arthur Weasley, and I was happy to do it for Harry. He’s helping Hermione remain calm this morning, and then he’s on escort duty for Queen Elizabeth in the afternoon. Here, you’ll need this. Always have it with you, even if it’s not visible, you know.” He gestured to his own, which he wore around his neck, but with the tags stuck in the breast pocket of his jacket.

The wizard handed him a lanyard with a bunch of passes on one end. Dudley thanked him even as he looked at it. There were two heavy, paperboard tags, one flashing red and purple with the letters VIP in yellow, and the other had his name and a variety of other bits of information on it. Residence Area: The Curtain. Residence Block: 2nd floor, 8 East. Length of Residence: 31/12/9_-02/1/0_. Coronation Seat: VIP Family Row 8, Seat 4. And on the other side, a crest with a green dragon rampant over two crossed white roses on a black field with a crown and a sword on top of the shield. The lanyard was a ribbon that had words printed on it. The words didn’t move, but the fireworks going off behind them did.  _ ‘By the Grace of Almighty God and the Will of Queen Elizabeth II for the Coronation of Her Royal Majesty Hermione, Queen Regent of Avalon, Viscountess Black, Knight of the Order of Merlin.’  _

Dudley just stared at it for a long time.

The wizard cleared his throat and it knocked Dudley out of his trance. He put the lanyard over his head and picked up his suitcase in one hand and his bag of presents in the other.

“Ready?” 

Dudley nodded as the wizard reached out to firmly take his upper arm. 

“Deep breath!”

And then Dudley’s insides were flip flopped with his outsides, then his outsides were turned back around beyond his insides and he came all back together, staggering, in a cordoned off area full of people coming and going and queueing up and popping in and out of existence.

His guide took his suitcase and led him to a short line where he showed his credentials even as he greeted by name almost every single person they passed. His guide was chattering on about how he would show him his room, and the salon set aside for his use, his and a few other guests of the Curtain, and then he’d show him about a bit until he got his bearings, make sure he had earplugs for the ceremony, and then leave him be to explore and have fun.

Dudley focused on taking deep breaths and feeling the firm ground beneath his feet as he walked alongside. His palms were sweaty and he was so glad Harry had suggested the sea-sickness pills. What a god-send. And he had enough for the trip back, too.

There were big marquee tents everywhere and the wide open festival space was teeming with people, even at nine in the morning, people who looked like they’d been there for hours already.

“We’re passing the medi-tent here, and so if anything happens when you’re outside the castle, just come over here and tell them you’re a muggle and they’ll give you appropriate care.” Mr. Weasley ( _ Uncle Arthur? Maybe not unless he suggests it. _ ) pointed out the large tent with the standard red cross symbol, but made out of wands. Of course it was made out of wands.

“Now, we’re coming in at the back of the castle, here. It’s not much to look at from the outside, not like Hogwarts, but inside it’s quite roomy. Expansion spells, you know. Permanent ones, powered by the ley lines and ancient runes, likely. Quite good work. Very stable. Apparently they’re going to put in a rose garden. That’ll be impressive when it happens. That’s Viktor’s family, of course--” 

( _ Viktor? Who’s Viktor?) _

“--They’re in roses, in a big way, in Bulgaria.”

_ (Bulgaria? Isn’t that… in eastern Europe, somewhere? East, but before you hit Russia? And what does Bulgaria have to do with the price of tea in China?) _

“--Now, this low building, this is called Concordia and the Coronation will happen just here on the steps, and you’ll be seated in that section over there. This dividing line, and this wall here, if you don’t have your VIP pass, you can’t get past it, so don’t forget it. Now this little squat tower at the back here, this is The Curtain, and it’s the main part of the castle. Yes, quite small. Well, small on the outside. It’s bigger on the inside.”

Dudley was reminded of Dr. Who’s police box time machine, but didn’t mention anything out of habit. That’s the sort of magical thinking that gave his father hives, but it’s nice to know it existed for real, at least in part. Maybe there were no such things as time machines, but it would be wicked cool to have an entire house inside a police call box.

“Right, so you’ll be sharing the Yellow Salon which is right around here, with the Berhe family and the Jacksons, both muggle families with magical children, friends of Her Majesty, the children, I mean. Now, once I settle you in upstairs, I’ll wait for you down here in this salon and then show you around a bit. Now, let’s head up.”

Dudley took the shallow grand stairs with ease and was hiding his total enthusiasm for being in, essentially, the TARDIS Castle. Which, of course,  _ would _ be in Wales. There was a lot he was quite excited to tell his Mum about when he got home, and he’d only just got here.

“Breakfast starts at six and goes till nine, it’s a buffet, and lunch is as well, from eleven til two, and the dinner is generally at eight, and it’s formal dress for dinner, but today there will be a reception instead, directly after the coronation, and then an ongoing party till Merlin-knows-when. Meals will typically be in the Great Hall we passed through downstairs, but you’ll be invited to the VIP reception tonight, so that will be all inside the Enclosure, here, and in the Great Hall and the center Courtyard of Concordia, which is climate controlled. Very nice. I’ll show that to you a bit later.” 

Dudley was listening intensely, not sure he would get a second chance at any of this information. Harry had said he would catch up with him at breakfast tomorrow, if he hadn’t beforehand at the reception that night, and there was a whole day to explore, but Dudley didn’t want to miss out on anything essential.

“Now, you’re eight east, I think, yes, alright, though of course all the names are on the rooms. Oh, this is nice. You’ll have a nice view of the circus from here. Right, here’s your suite. In you go. So, I’ll leave you to it in just a moment, but let me show you around a bit. There’s no indoor plumbing in the castle - I know, it was a bit of a shock to us, too - but the ancient systems are pretty good, if elf-intensive.”

The older man kindly showed him how the toilet and bath worked, warned him not to put anything he didn’t want crushed out the windows, how to call an elf, and then did so, and introduced him to Trip, who was actually Harry’s personal elf, who would also be looking after Dudley.

“I’ll give you these now. They’re water plugs for your ears. You’ll need them for the coronation, but not all of it, so make sure you keep them in a handy pocket for that time. Can’t understand the merfolk without them and trust me, you don’t want to try. These North Atlantic Merfolk are nothing like those Mediterranean Sirens. Anyway. You can give any presents you want distributed to Trip and he’ll put them in the right place, and you can ask him for whatever you need now or later. So, take some time to freshen up and get your bearings, and then I’ll see you in the Yellow Salon downstairs when you’re ready.”

Dudley reached out a hand and shook the older man’s, thanking him and promising not to be long.

And then Dudley was left alone in a magnificent suite in an ancient magical castle with… a house elf. The long ears, he thought, were more like sheep’s ears and less like, you know, Elrond. Also, it… he... was short. Really short. Hobbit short. (Another book he discovered only in college.) And… wearing a pillowcase. An embroidered pillowcase. He didn’t catch the crest, and he didn’t want to stare, but it was very detailed work.

Tolkien had made no mention of any of this.

“Er, hello,” he said.

“Good morning, sir. How may Trip be of service, sir?”

“Um, are you really Harry’s elf?” He hadn’t mentioned. Though why he would have, Dudley wasn’t certain. It’s not like he was a show-off.

“Trip has the great honor to serve The Pendragon’s blood brother,” the tiny elf said, referring to himself in the third person, which was, you know, odd. But then, Dudley was having a conversation with a mythical being in an embroidered pillowcase, and that was, you know, odd. And no amount of recent fantasy reading had prepared him for it.

Then Dudley snapped out of it. “Right. So.” He put the bag of gifts on the bed and took them all out and sorted them into piles. “Um, if you could get this stack of gifts and put them in Harry and Ginny’s room, and then this stack is for Her Majesty. Um, of Avalon, I mean, not Queen Elizabeth the Second, and so if you could put those wherever presents for her are being collected, th- that would be great.”

Dudley jumped a little when the elf snapped his fingers and the presents disappeared.

“Would sir like Trip to unpack for him? Press flat sir’s dress robes?”

“Uh, yes. Thank you. Just the case, not my knapsack.”

Dudley watched with round eyes as his case floated up and open, all his clothes floated out, and without touching anything, the tiny elf in an embroidered and pressed pillowcase sorted all his things and put them away in about a minute and a half. The clothes he pressed  _ while  _ putting them in their place, either folded at the top shelf of the wardrobe, or hung neatly along the inside on pegs. There was no rail, and no hangers. The other items in the case were neatly lined up on the dressing table.

“Any clothes sir would like laundered, sir might leave on the bottom of the wardrobe,” Trip pointed out and Dudley noticed that this elf (wearing a pillowcase, really hard to get over, the pillowcase) was more polite than most people he knew.

“Thank you, that’s very kind.”

“Does sir require anything further at this time?”

“Um, Trip, do you happen to know who  _ Viktor  _ is?” When Mr. Weasley said the name, he seemed to say it in that way that supposed everyone knew and so it made it so very awkward to ask.

Trip raised a single eyebrow. “Yes, sir.”

Dudley waited. Nothing else seemed to be forthcoming. “Um, could you tell me?”

“Master Krum, Lord of Cair Paravel, Stronghold of the Northwestern Crossing, and The Pendragon’s mate. This is the only Viktor Trip knows.”

Dudley’s eyes blew wide, and he blushed bright red. Because that had been on the invitation, now that he thought about it. Or had it? Dudley would look again later. “Right. Thank you. That’s all, I think.”

Trip bowed his head briefly, then disappeared with a little pop.

Dudley exhaled loudly and took a minute to just be embarrassed quite alone and without anyone to mock him. After he pulled himself together he used the facilities and sorted out his smaller day bag, a little messenger bag thing with some water and some protein bars, his camera and seventy-five pounds and went to head down to the Yellow Salon.

When he walked in there was an odd sort of tension in the air, but he couldn’t be sure. There were certainly a lot of people in the room. Well, it was time to make friends.

“Hello,” he said brightly to the room in general, after coming in and closing the door. “I’m Dudley.”

And everyone’s sense of general manners kicked in and the adults came over and shook his hand one by one. Mr. and Mrs. Jackson, and their sons Tommy and Timmy, clearly twins. Mrs. Berhe and her daughter Elsbet, who were apparently waiting on Mr. Berhe and son Negash. And finally a very well dressed man about his own age named Draco Malfoy. Mr. Weasley looked like he wanted to rush them out, but Dudley wanted to stay and get to know these people a bit - he’d discovered it was a lot easier to do in the first moments if you went and took advantage of them, rather than trying to recreate it all later on.

Orientation at Uni had been quite eye-opening.

So when little Elsbet tugged on his sleeve, he crouched down to her level and smiled.

“Are you a wizard?” she asked with the sort of candor one can always count on from children.

Dudley shook his head and grinned. “‘Fraid not. Sorry.”

“My brother’s a wizard. But I don’t think I’m a witch. I’ve never made anything funny happen. Have you ever made anything funny happen?”

Dudley shook his head again. “Nope. Nothing.”

The little girl sighed. “Isn’t it terrible?”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Dudley said affably, shifting a little bit in his squat to get more comfortable. “Lots of things normal folk like us can do things that wizards just don’t care much about. Like sports. They’ve only got one big sport, and sure, they play it on brooms and that’s pretty cool. But what about football? Rugby? Baseball? Basketball? Lacroix? Hockey? Volleyball? What about golf and skiing and tennis and  _ cricket _ ?”

The little girl’s eyes rounded. “You mean Negash can’t play Little League anymore?”

Dudley shrugged, not remembering who Negash was, but getting her point. Probably her missing brother. “In the summers, maybe, but not at Hogwarts. I don’t know about you, but I want to go out for Rugby this spring at Uni and if I were a wizard, I probably wouldn’t have the chance to do that.”

Elsbet turned back to her mother. “Mummy, if I’m not a witch, can I have tennis lessons?”

“What a good idea!” Mrs. Berhe responded and when Elsbet looked away for a moment Dudley grinned to see her mother mouth the words ‘thank you!’ at him with a look of abject relief on her face.

Across the room, one of the twins looked up to his mother and asked, “Mum, can I have golf lessons?”

“Yes,” was the firm response. “Excellent idea. I’ll book them as soon as we get back home, dear.”

Mr. Jackson changed the subject. “Now, how do you know Hermione and Viktor?”

Dudley stood up and was surprised to have Elsbet put her small hand in his. He grinned down at her briefly. “I’m cousins with her blood brother.”

“Harry Potter?” asked the posh looking man in a posh sounding accent who had introduced himself as Draco Malfoy.

Elsbet was bouncing up and down. “Harry Potter?  _ The  _ Harry Potter? The Boy Who Lived? Order of Merlin First Class? Savior of the Wizarding World? He’s gonna be a knight! And a duke! And a  _ librarian _ !”

Both of Dudley’s brows were sky-high. It was true, of course… just… a little... overwhelming. “Um, black hair, glasses, scar on his forehead?”

“Yup, that’s Harry,” one of the twins said from across the room.

“Uh, yeah,” Dudley agreed. “I’m cousins with  _ the  _ Harry Potter.”

Mr. Weasley cleared his throat and made motions to leave, but Dudley was having fun chatting, and if they could just change the subject again it would be perfect.

“Um, you know, Mr. Weasley, uh, thank you so much for bringing me here and getting me settled. I’ve got my earplugs, I know how to call Harry’s elf, and I know where the meditent is, and I can explore the rest on my own, later. If you have something else you need to do, please go ahead. Don’t worry about me.” He grinned and held out his hand to shake the older man’s, one last time. “Thank you again,” he said.

“Well, I’ll leave you be then. I’m sure if you have any further questions, you can ask  _ Lord Malfoy.” _ His smile was tense and he was much different from the happy, burbling man who had brought him into the castle. Either something bad had happened while Dudley was out of sight, or Mr. Weasley really didn’t like Draco  _ \- Lord? -  _ Malfoy. 

Dudley’s eyes darted to the well-dressed white haired aristocrat. It was the first aristocrat he’d ever actually met. He looked it. Effortlessly elegant, sort of thing. He had a green knit turtleneck on, under a tweed sport coat and brown trousers and short brown boots and was standing there casually with his hands in his pockets. Like Mr. Weasley, Lord Malfoy had his lanyard around his neck, but the tags in the breast pocket of his coat. It seemed to be the done thing, if you happened to be wearing a coat with appropriate pockets.

Into the tension Mr. Weasley left in his wake, the door opened again and a dark-skinned man who looked every inch a professor down to the horn-rimmed glasses walked in with a little boy in tow who shared his serious and studious demeanor. (Lanyard around his neck, tags in breast pocket of tweed jacket. Now Dudley was on full alert and ready to make a survey of how many people wore it this way, and what their relative ages were. It seemed funny at first, but maybe this was a high-brow country thing?)

After a brief moment of introductions (facilitated by Elsbet,  _ “Daddy! This is Harry Potter’s Cousin and I’m going to have tennis lessons!”)  _ Lord Malfoy herded them out and brought them back to the Great Hall. He introduced its purpose and function, reminded them when the meals were served and which ones were informal, and pointed out that if dinner was too late for the children, they could request dinner earlier in their rooms for them, from their elf. Then he brought them over to a tiny little old-style drawing that was moving about, like some sort of animation.

“As of now, this castle has only one magical portrait. This one is a thousand years old. It’s subjects are Helga Hufflepuff--”

At this the two little wizards were like hounds on point. It was kind of cute, actually.

“--Godric Gryffindor, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Salazar Slytherin. And Her Royal Highness, Princess Maria, the last of the Pendragons for a very long time. She’s the one bearing Excalibur. They can speak to you, but unless you speak Latin, or Snake, it’s no good.”

“I speak a bit of Latin. Well, usually I read it.” the professor said, and then addressed the portrait after a moment of thought.  _ “Salvete omnes. Solomon Berhe nomen meum. Annuntio vobis salvete a Oxford University.” _

Dudley watched with wide eyes as a cacophony of happy voices answered back and there was a bit of a dialogue that went on for some moments. Eventually the professor shrugged. 

“Well, that’s the extent of my conversational Latin. Not much, really, but fascinating, really quite.”

Lord Malfoy led them out to the long, low Romanesque building with the Romanesque name and pointed out that the back rooms along this side were all spa-like bath, and that if they hadn’t brought bathing suits, they could ask their elves and something would be managed. He led them through and into the courtyard which smelled amazing, full of fruit trees in bloom, even in December, and told them they were free to explore the entire complex, but that they would find the third floor of the Curtain, any guest rooms other than their own, and  _ these two rooms  _ locked, as those were private spaces. He brought them through some gaming room at the front of the building, and then onto the steps on the other side from where they’d begun.

“For the coronation, we’ll all be seated over here. Remember to put your earplugs by ten after four. Sunset is only minutes after. You don’t want to hear mermish out of water. And for the wedding at three, we’ll all be gathering in the Great Hall a quarter til the hour.” 

He led them down the main aisle formed by bright purple folding chairs. Thousands and thousands of bright purple folding chairs.

It was quiet for a while, and quite a long walk.

Mrs. Berhe broke the silence. “How do you know Viktor and Hermione, Lord Malfoy?”

Dudley heard his quiet response. Somehow it seemed sad, though that didn’t make sense.

“I’m her  _ other _ brother.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know she had two.”

“Until recently, she didn’t have any,” he pointed out. Moments later they were out of the field of purple chairs and he showed them with a sweeping gesture. “Over here we have the quidditch pitch, there’ll be one exhibition game a day, and Viktor will be playing at tomorrow’s, with his team, the Inferi. Today’s game starts at ten, so you’ll have time to see it and still do plenty of other things, if you like. Over here we have the stage, and there will be a variety of things offered there. Gentler music in the morning, one play a day, and rather louder and more raucous music in the evening. It’s Wyrd Sisters tonight and Accio Heelstrike and Murepent tomorrow. And over here we have the circus tents and market tents and displays. There is a Gringott’s outpost for you to exchange money, though I understand some of the merchants are just taking British Pounds Sterling today. There’s a few souvenir kiosks and the souvenirs are all quite good. Ginny Potter organized those,” he said, with a look in Dudley’s direction. “There are t-shirts in house colors, too,” he said, with a look at the young wizards.

The boys in the group all started petitioning their parents to go watch quidditch and started angling to do so in an unsupervised manner.

“Do you think it would be safe, Lord Malfoy?” Mrs. Berhe asked, and all the parents looked to him for guidance.

“Very likely,” he answered, and Dudley noticed that it wasn’t a simple yes. “There are plainclothes aurors everywhere, and security is quite tight. I’m sure they’ll be alright for a few hours.”

“Right,” said Mrs. Jackson. “I want you back for lunch in the Great Hall at twelve sharp. If you’re so much as two minutes late, I’ll send you directly to bed after the coronation. Is that understood?”

The twins stared wide-eyed at their mum and nodded. “But we don’t have a watch,” one of them said quietly. 

“Then you ask someone for the time,” she said quite clearly, and Dudley was a little in awe of her. He had no idea parenting could look like this.

“I’ve got a watch,” the other little wizard replied, who was still looking hopefully at his parents.

“Same rules,” the academic said. “Meet us for lunch at Noon, even if the game isn’t over yet, and stay with your friends.”

“Wait!” Mrs. Jackson said to her twins. “Now, just because Negash has the watch doesn’t mean it’s all his responsibility to remember. It’s yours, too. Now, off you go. Be good and have fun.”

All three were off like shots toward the sports area.

“There’s also some interesting display areas and subscription kiosks over with the other merchants,” Lord Malfoy pointed out after all the little boys had gone. “If you’ve never been inside A Wanderlust tent, you should try it.”

Elsbet, who was still holding on to Dudley’s hand, tugged him around a bit and closer to the well-dressed aristocrat. “Lord Malfoy?” she started, and her little girl voice - she couldn’t be older than seven - was possibly one of the most endearing things Dudley had ever heard. Then again, he hadn’t heard so many endearing things in his life.

“Yes, Miss Berhe? How can I help you?”

“Will you hold my hand and swing me with Dudley?”

Was that subtle panic flitting across his face?

Dudley looked over to Mrs. Berhe for permission. She only shrugged and grinned a little. He looked over to the aristocrat and grinned a little, himself. He looked back over to the set of parents who were all watching with interest as if it were a television program. “We could make our way over to the merchant tents?” he suggested as he saw Lord Malfoy take the girl’s hand out of the corner of his eye. He didn’t get any disagreement to his suggestion and so he and the blond man walked in front, every two steps swinging a small child between them who was not so much walking as doing highly assisted hops and shrieking in happiness, with parents walking behind. He thought he could hear Mrs. Berhe ask Mrs. Jackson what it was like to have twin boys, though he didn’t hear the answer.

“So,” Dudley said, trying to make some conversation as they walked passed crowds who blissfully got out of their way, which was probably the happily shrieking seven-year-old playing harbinger for them. “Did you go to school with Harry or was he a few years behind you?”

“Same year. Different house.”

“House?” Dudley asked. Of course there were houses at Smeltings, but they didn’t mean anything. Not really. But the way Lord Malfoy had said it, well… He wondered if he was just going to be filled with basic questions every time someone magical spoke with him. Well, probably, come to think of it. 

Lord Malfoy gave him a speculative look. “The four houses define the life of the students. We weren’t friends, though that’s changing now.”

The way he said it made it seem like there was actually quite a lot behind that, though Dudley could only think of his own situation. “Yeah, growing up together, we weren’t friends either, though that’s changing now.” After a moment of relative quiet, as quiet as one can be surrounded by loud people and a small child shrieking next to you, Dudley changed the subject. “So, I’m glad he got married and has that chance at happiness. Do you know his wife, Ginny?”

“Oh yes,” Lord Malfoy said. “A year below us, same House as Potter and- well, Harry and Hermione. Distantly related, as well.”

“Yes, apparently we are, too. Fourteenth cousins or something.”

A blond eyebrow rose. “Really? I wonder which side. We’re third cousins, through our mothers.”

“Not sure, though its definitely through our mothers, who were sisters. Um, I mean, Harry and me. Um, so, I’ve never met Hermione. What’s she like?”

Lord Malfoy sighed, though that could have just been Elsbet, as it also corresponded to hauling her in the air. “She’s ridiculously intelligent, she has the biggest heart of anyone I’ve ever met, and she’s braver than I ever imagined anyone could be. She’s got old eyes, a backbone of tempered steel, and I never want to be on the opposite side of her in war again.”

Dudley glanced at him quickly and just as quickly looked away again. Right. War. He’d forgotten.

“So… you… were…” Oh, God, he should probably not have said anything at all.

“A death eater. You know who they were?”

Dudley silently nodded and swung a happily shrieking Elsbet.

“Stupidest decision I ever made in my life. Never blindly follow your parents, Mr. Dursley. Always think for yourself, even if it means you have to go live on the streets.”

And they swung a happily shrieking Elsbet.

“I… yeah. My dad’s not too keen that I’m here, but he’s not always right. In fact, I’m not sure he ever has been, really.”

And they swung a happily shrieking Elsbet.

“I know quite what you mean. I’m sure my father is rolling in his grave right now, though my mother is quite proud of me, so there is that.”

Dudley let out a little huff of laughter. “Yeah. I don’t think Mum will ever forgive herself for… well, certain things. But she’s glad I came. She helped me to organize a few things. You know, for coming here.”

“Life is full of regrets, but we must live the life we have now. I’m certain that’s what Hermione would tell us. Or possibly Viktor.”

“Tell me about him,” Dudley said, grasping at a subject change.

“What do you already know?” his companion asked as Elsbet flew through the air.

“Er, nothing, really,” Dudley responded. Trip’s words had slipped through his mind as other more important things pushed them to the side, like when to put in earplugs and when to be ready for the wedding.

“Professional athlete - of our one sport - top of his game, just transferred to a local team, he’d been on a Bulgarian side since he was sixteen. Possibly he’s the only one here more famous than Harry Potter, and that includes Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth, and Her Majesty Queen Hermione. Large man. Physically intimidating. Introverted. His family grows the most expensive magical flowers on the market, and if you haven’t already noticed the white roses all over the castle, you will soon. They have a calming effect. They renamed that Roman structure after the rose. He’s a good match for Hermione. He can keep up with her intellectually and he’s quite a powerful wizard, despite being known primarily as an athlete. And the poor sod’s head over heels in love with her. We all met him when he studied at Hogwarts for a year. They dated then, and he started courting her after the war. They’re the most patently romantic couple I’ve ever witnessed, including in theatre. If it weren’t so utterly genuine it might be galling. 

“You should consider a subscription to the Quibbler, and the Daily Quibble, by the way. Better newspapers than the Prophet, more reliable, you know, but it would keep you up to date. And I believe they do a Muggle posting, wrapped and sent through your mail. You wouldn’t get the quidditch news, but it’s a small price to pay to avoid the biased reporting of the Prophet. Though the adverts are still good.”

And by the time they got to the merchant tents, Elsbet was riding Dudley’s shoulders and Draco was idly, somehow, making bubbles float out of the tip of his wand and wafting them generally in her direction. The two had moved on and were chatting about Draco’s lack of experience as a vintner, and Dudley’s lack of direction at University.

* * *

“Well, I hadn’t thought to go into agro, though it is about as far as one could get from my father’s business, and that is rather attractive. He manages a drill factory. I can’t imagine duller work. But I’ve got a friend who’s in it and she was telling me all about some of the different innovations, the computers and technology, and she says there’s going to be a huge war in the future - I think she means metaphorically speaking, not a literal war - about organic versus chem and genetic mods, you know?”

“That sounds fascinating,” Draco said, not knowing what the hell Harry’s cousin just said, but feeling as if it might behoove him to find out. “And what do you know about these two sides of the metaphorical war?”

Draco listened in what he was determined not to show was rapt attention, though it certainly was. Innovation and vineyards did not exactly go hand-in-hand, not when one could get away with doing things the same way they’d been done since the French Revolution, which was roughly the last time the Malfoys did any innovating - and hadn’t those journals proven interesting reading.

And his manager was talking about retiring. Apparently running things with no direction at all for twenty years had been the end of enough. Draco had negotiated for Francois to stay on for another three years until he could secure a replacement, and possibly one who could learn from him, but Draco had been at a loss, squib vintners being rather thin on the ground. He’d begun advertising, but there were no responses  _ at all  _ in three months of advertising. None.

Well, he’d been at a loss until now.

Hiding his happiness was easy enough, but sadly Elsbet’s bubbles took on a decidedly rainbow hue. Draco decided that was acceptable. After all, there was no one particularly perceptive around him.

When Dudley - or simply Dee, as Draco had been invited to address him - told him what was involved with changing his major once something had caught his eye, it was apparently quite easy, Draco was more confident in asking his next question.

“Could you see yourself in agro?” he asked, using the man’s clipped way of saying it.

Dee waxed philosophical for a moment and then came down with a tentative yes. “But it’s a bit late to get a decent internship for over the summer, which would be instrumental in figuring out if I could really do it, and I know a lot of intern places tend to hire the interns they like, if there are openings.”

Draco decided to just do it. “Do you speak French?”

“Not…  _ well _ ,” was Dee’s pained response.

“Think you can fix that in the next five months?”

“If… I… needed to,” was Dee’s hedged reply.

“Well, if you do decide to change your major and can speak at least broken French with a focus on words used at a vineyard, I could arrange a summer internship. You’d have to be keen, but if you were, it could work.”

“I can learn French, that’s not a problem,” Dee said all in a rush, still holding on to Elsbet’s feet that dangled in front of his chest.

“We can work out the details later, but why don’t you stay an extra day, after the festival? I’ll take you the morning of the third on a tour of the vineyards.”

“I… That would be  _ awesome, thank you,  _ Draco. Um, but you don’t think Her Majesty would mind? I mean, me staying another night?”

Draco shook his head. “No, it’ll be fine. I’ll square it away with her.”

“Um, this might be too personal, so, you know, just tell me it’s none of my business, and that’s fine, right? But, um, how are you Her Majesty’s brother? You said she didn’t have  _ any _ until recently?”

Draco smirked. “It’s fine. The rest of the wizarding world knows. I don’t see why you shouldn’t. Some rather horrific things happened during the war. As a way to atone, my mother adopted Hermione as her heir. I had already inherited from my father, and in our world a man can only hold one active lineage, whereas a woman can hold any number. And I’m an only child. And everyone else in Mother’s family had died or been disinherited. So Hermione became the Viscountess and Heir of Black. You following so far?”

Dee nodded and Draco was aware that a few others in the crowds were also quietly listening in, including Mr. Jackson and Mrs. Berhe. Ostensibly they were looking at souvenirs, and the sixth year students staffing the kiosk who had scowled upon seeing him were rather more interested now.

“So,” Draco continued, “in the process of registering this, and discovering her full lineage, it was also discovered that she was the Pendragon Scion.”

“I’m sorry, the Pendragon  _ what?” _

“Scion. It means the last of the line. And due to rather archaic but important rules of inheritance, she could accept both lineages or neither, but not one or the other. You still with me?”

“This is better than East Enders,” Dee breathed.

Having no idea what he was referencing, Draco took the comment to be agreement and moved on.

“Due to other magical circumstances set in place a thousand years ago by her predecessor, the Queen was alerted that the Scion had appeared, summoned her, and Hermione became Queen Regent of Avalon right then, took vows of fealty, everything. My mother witnessed it. So this coronation festival is when she gets crowned, and publicly declares those vows, and then does the Seating ritual which is entirely magical. I gather nothing like it has happened in the world since the last Pendragon did it a thousand years ago, so that should be interesting.

“But to your original question, Hermione and I weren’t friends in school. Quite the opposite, in fact. But when she accepted my mother’s repayment of the debt of honor owed to her by our house… she responded with characteristic kindness, and offered me the proverbial olive branch. I took it. Our friendship has grown and she has  _ declared _ us siblings.”

“Wow,” Dee said, squatting down to let Elsbet off his shoulders and back into her mother’s care. Draco was aware that he was rolling his shoulders and stretching a bit, but his gaze was turned away to give him a moment of privacy. “So, wait. What happens if someone else finds out they’re a Pendragon and they have maybe a better claim, or something?”

“Hermione has the choice to recognize them as members of the house, or not. That’s the joy of being the Head of a House. And as a woman, she names her own heirs, and she has that right. No one can contest it. And as for being the Pendragon Regent, that’s actually up to the Monarch of the Isles. And that’s already happened. And if there had been many to choose from, I think Hermione still would have been chosen. She’s intelligent, brave, and kind. She’ll make an excellent queen.”

“Sounds intimidating,” Dee said, walking on from the souvenir kiosk and at Draco’s urging, right past the Daily Prophet kiosk to the Quibbler and Daily Quibble kiosk and Interview Booth.

“Also quite true,” Draco finally answered. “If you do nothing else today, for Merlin’s sake, take out a subscription in one or both of these papers, would you? You are woefully uninformed.”

Dee laughed at that, and Draco was glad the man saw it as the gentle teasing it was. He waited patiently as Dee was sorted and the explicit instructions as to different addresses at different times was managed.

“Good morning, Lord Malfoy. Won’t you introduce me to your friend?” said the pleasantest voice he could imagine, after having stepped out of the Interview Booth and thanking the last person who’d consented to an interview.

She was looking quite lovely in formal silver robes over a lavender suit with those beautiful dragonhide heels and a jaunty little peaked hat that looked only vaguely reminiscent of a standard witch’s hat. Her hair was partially braided and pulled back, and Draco had an inkling that she also smelled excellent.

She had last night.

Draco turned his attention more fully to her and finally stopped producing bubbles for Elsbet who was standing between himself and Dee, and stowed his wand. He stepped toward her and reached out his hand and when she offered her own, he kissed it and then turned back to his new friends and tucked her left hand into the crook of his right arm.

It felt very good there.

He made the introductions of Dee, the Jacksons, the Berhes, and then turned to Luna.

“And this is Miss Lovegood, Editor-in-Chief of these two news outlets, and Advisor to the Queen.”

Conversation flowed on, but Draco nipped it in the bud before too long. Luna had work to do. And in fact, Mrs. Berhe was the next person she invited to an interview, little Elsbet going along to sit on her lap while it happened.

* * *

Dudley surreptitiously looked at his watch and privately wondered if the boys were going to be able to make it. It was 11:59 AM, and they had until 12:01 PM. Shrugging, he wandered over to another guest and introduced himself, and thus he met Charlie, who worked in Eastern Europe with dragons, (DRAGONS?  _ DRAGONS!)  _ and Bill and his wife Fleur, who were both cursebreakers, Bill having worked previously in Egypt, and Fleur having only two field experiences so far, both in Britain.

It was a bit too soon to boast about his upcoming internship, but Dudley didn’t mind at all introducing himself as an agro major, as he would shortly be.

He wasn’t sure when the boys had made it back, or if they had done so under deadline, but he was very aware that they were there presently when Harry walked down the sweeping and dramatic staircase, because they shouted his name and dragged him across the hall to meet their parents.

It was sort of charming, and Dudley didn’t try to hide his smirk. He sat down to lunch with his new acquaintances and had just a delightful time chatting. Bill and Charlie were two of the hands-down coolest men he’d ever met and Fleur had a wicked sense of humor. She was also blindingly beautiful, but that didn’t phase Dudley much. It went without saying that blindingly beautiful women (to say nothing of being married as well) were so far out of his league as to be in the land of ridiculous notions, so he was quite comfortable, really.

If conversation hadn’t been about dragons in Romania and ancient tombs in Egypt it might have been all too easy to end up staring at the facial scar that the older brother had - four rents right across his face, and how he’d managed to keep his eyes was probably a miracle of wizard medicine, or something. When conversation lulled a bit, Dudley asked the inevitable question.

“So, how do you know Viktor and Hermione?”

“I don’t,” Charlie the Dragon Keeper was quick to answer, as his mouth was empty. “Sheer, dumb luck I’m here, mate. Never even seen him play. Happy to come though. Don’t get me wrong.”

Dudley gave him a confused look and Fleur enlightened him.

“It is their family, you see, the Weasleys. They are all here. The youngest, Ginny, she is married to Harry, your cousin. The oldest, Bill, is married to me, and I am Viktor’s friend. Her Majesty has been very close to the family ever since school, and particularly during the war. Oh! Here is Viktor now, coming in from outside,” Fleur Weasley commented with only a glance of her eyes and a little tilt of her head.

Three large men had just walked through the door and they were all obviously related. A father and sons, probably.

“Um, which is Viktor?” Dudley asked, betting that it probably wasn’t the oldest, but what did he know?

“Gregor-Viktor-Gregor,” Fleur answered in a sing-song voice that Dudley didn’t really understand at first. “Father, Son, Nephew.”

Right. Guy in the middle. Got it.

Dudley didn’t want to be rude and staring, but he was also very curious about the main players of the drama in which he found himself. But he also couldn’t help but notice that Viktor had a good build for rugby, really, the kind of build Dudley was trying to go for, though at this point he would likely never have the man’s height. Dudley would be stuck forever at five foot and ten and a half inches. A half an inch shorter than Harry. But at least he did have muscles, now.

“The man’s bloody  _ huge _ to be a seeker. Don’t know how he does it,” Charlie murmured under his breath so likely only Dudley could hear.

It was a good segue, and Dudley took it, asking how the game of quidditch worked. He’d hoped to catch at least one of the exhibition games during the festival, and now that he’d bought one of the beautiful specialty programmes, he knew when everything was due to start. Of course there were other things in there, glossy photos, including a close up of King Arthur’s sword, Excalibur, but he hadn’t had much of an opportunity to really look at anyone or anything in it, though perhaps he should before the wedding, so he could pick out the bride at a glance and not embarrass himself. Because would she be wearing white? God only knew.

Well, Fleur might, actually, but the conversation wasn’t there, yet.

And then they were discussing what they wanted to see after lunch and frankly Dudley hadn’t made any plans. When Fleur announced that she very much wanted to see the French circus that was present only today, the small group generally decided it was a brilliant plan and so after lunch was finished and everyone had an opportunity to nip back to their rooms and refresh themselves with the facilities they wandered out together and Dudley thought about what he’d already done and seen.

Along with the programme, he’d gotten the requisite souvenir for his mother - a little snow globe with Excalibur stuck in a stone - and for himself a bright red t-shirt that proclaimed ‘I WAS THERE’ on the back, with the date, and on the front was a shield with a green dragon rampant on a black field with white roses crossed underneath, and oddly, the dragon was holding a little roundish thing that Dudley couldn’t figure out what it was until he showed Charlie and Bill and Fleur, and they pointed out it was the pot from Harry’s shield, because they’re blood siblings, probably. Fleur pointed out that the white roses were Viktor’s family’s emblem; their family’s shield had only the image of crossed white roses on a field of green. And then Bill pointed out that the background of the shield was black probably because Her Majesty was the Heir of Black, and their shield was just entirely sable without any device.

Dudley double checked the sheild on his tag, and yup. There it was. A tiny pot in the dragon’s claws.

Dudley had also gotten the recommended newspaper subscriptions, and that all together was quite a haul, he thought, for only seventy-five pounds. Lord Malfoy assured him that all the vendors would be present throughout the festival, so now that he’d had a good look at everything, he had an idea of what he wanted to do with the rest of his money. He’d brought another hundred fifty pounds with him this afternoon, though whether or not he’d spend any of it would remain to be seen. There wasn’t much time before they had to go back and get ready for the wedding. But he’d also taken a couple of really great shots he thought, one of the castle from far away with all those purple chairs set up, and he was glad he got a passing normal person to take a picture of him with Lord Malfoy, Elsbet (on his shoulders still, at that point), the Berhes and the Jacksons. He did the same on the way to the circus, got someone normal looking to snap a picture of him, Charlie, Bill, and Fleur, and this was the sort of thing he’d had in mind, really, if he could manage it for the pictures. Dudley didn’t want to take pictures of magical things, because where could he get that developed? But people, and the place. And, well, maybe one or two of a mermaid or a centaur or something, because couldn’t that be passed off in development as crazy carnival stuff? Probably.

Dudley was knocked out of his musings by someone coming up to the people who were walking just a little in front of them and sharing the latest on-dit of news.

_ “Did you hear? Breaking news at the Quibbler Kiosk! Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth just gave the Potters and Malfoy duchies! Duke and Duchess Black Pendragon, that’s the Potters, and Duke Black Malfoy. The Quibbler’s really on top of this! Can you believe it?” _

Charlie looked at Bill, who shrugged, and then at Fleur, who gave an elegant little shake of the head, then over at Dudley, who nodded. Not that he knew about Her Majesty’s other brother, Lord Malfoy, getting a dukedom, but he’d known about Harry’s. Anyway, he changed the subject and asked for more details about life in a dragon reserve and how exactly one takes that sort of occupational path.

And then Dudley discovered that there was actually no such thing as a wizarding university, which just went to show that half his recent reading was totally wrong. There were internships of a sort, and mastery studies, but they were all individual and very intense work.

Which might mean that if he did take an internship with Malfoy’s vineyards that he might have the best of both worlds, really. A University education and an intense internship, and also he’d come out with a fluency in French, which could be helpful in the rest of life, maybe.

Hmm. And he was walking beside a native francophone. This was an opportunity not to be missed, perhaps.

In a lull, Dudley brought it up. “So, I’m starting to improve my French, which is, well, it’s quite crap, really, and I was wondering if it would be alright… I mean, could I write to you?” He looked from Bill to Fleur, and then to Bill again, and then to Fleur. “I don’t know anyone else who speaks French,” he explained.

Fleur smiled widely. “Of course!” And then she spoke a flurry of French he had no hope, absolutely  _ no hope of following.  _

“Yeah, I missed all of that, sorry,” he admitted with a pained look on his face that caused Charlie to slap him on the back while the red head laughed.

“Why the sudden interest in French?” Bill asked, and if Dudley wasn’t mistaken, there was something in his tone. 

“I’m going out for an internship in France this summer. And if I can’t improve my language skills this semester I’ll just miss out and I don’t want that.”

“You should hire a tutor. That’s what Viktor did when he went home. Three years of intense study and he was fluent. You can do it too, Dee, if you want it badly enough.”

Dudley was nodding. “I want this.” He decided to talk with his mother and possibly save some of the money she had given him, just in case. Dudley had no idea how much tutors would cost, but surely there were desperate graduate students who needed money for the pub?

He pulled out a pen and a small pad of paper he carried with him just about anywhere and quickly wrote down her address, which did not strike him as the sort of address the Royal Mail delivered to. Then he asked.

“Oh, non, non. Have you no owl?”

_ His dad would flip. Utterly flip. Totally and completely flip. _

_ Unless he could hide it? _

“Uh, no.”

“You know,” Charlie pointed out. “There are very small owls, not much bigger than song birds, really, and they can be very discreet. Not good for large packages, but letters are fine. I think they’re selling them at a kiosk over there. They’re perfect for muggle relatives, really. Muggles keep small birds, don’t they?”

“Yeees,” Dudley answered slowly. Normal people kept, like, budgerigars and things. Maybe the odd parrot, for the serious bird lover. Normal people, Dudley was certain, did not keep miniature birds of prey in the home.

“Dead easy to keep, you know, so long as you give them time at night to hunt and don’t work them too hard. Bit of fresh water and keep the cage open for them, kind of thing. And the odd bit of bacon or sausage, you know, to show that you care. If you’re up for it, we should see what they’ve got now. They might sell out,” Charlie said, and quite reasonably, Dudley thought.

“Catch up with us at the circus. We’ll be there until 2:30,” Bill said.

“2:15,” Fleur corrected, looking askance at her husband.

“Right, 2:15,” he amended, still grinning.

So Charlie and Dudley veered off sharply to the left and headed over to the merchant kiosk section which was thankfully quite nearby.

“I’ve never owned a pet before,” Dudley admitted.

Charlie gave him the rundown on everything he needed to know generally about pets and specifically about mail-trained owls. Which was more than Dudley would have imagined.

With an owl this small, and particularly over long distances (anything over 100 miles), he’d need to fold and roll the message just so and then tie the message to the thong on the owl’s leg so it could hunt on delivery.

He’d want to get an owl who would bond with him.

He could pay for a lot of extras, security charms and the like, but it really wasn’t necessary. Charlie would do some of the basic ones for him if he found one he liked.

And then they were there and it only took a few minutes of waiting before they were at the head of the queue and able to look at the different animals - there were a lot of different kinds, including snakes - but all the owls were tiny little things, adorable really. There were half a dozen left and apparently going fast, though he’d already heard while they were waiting in the queue that they’d be getting in more in the next days.

One in particular caught his eye. It was about the size of a parakeet, but brown and white with such very specific markings of those colors that it made him think of, well, a Jedi’s robes, honestly.

Charlie told him how to hold his hand and warned him about the talons, which pinched a bit, and the attendant brought out the little brown and white Jedi Knight.

“He likes you,” Charlie confirmed as the tiny thing hooted at Dudley and then hopped up from his finger to his hand and then up his forearm, hooting all the way. Teeny, tiny hoots.

Adorable hoots.

“Who’s a beautiful little bird of prey?” Dudley cooed at him. “You are, yes you are.”

“Charm connection,” said the attendant. “Comes with purchase, for muggles. Make it easier for your owl to find you again, no matter where you go. Will you be getting him?”

“I think I will,” Dudley decided, his father and the hundred fits yet to be thrown, bedamned.

“You’ll want a cage. We’ve got some nice little ones for these little guys. Discreet, you know?”

“Yeah, let’s do it,” Dudley agreed.

“Right then, I’m going to pass you off to Amanda, here, who is going to cash you out and charm up your owl for you, right?”

“Thanks, mate!” Dudley said, shifting over to the right in front of the young lady in question. He paid and received both his cage and the receipt and then held his arm out for her. The one his brand new mail-trained owl was perched on, hooting teeny, tiny hoots.

“You’ll need to name him. I’ve got to use that in the incantation. I’ll need yours, too,” she said, ready to write it all down.

“Luke Skywalker,” Dudley said, firmly decided.

“Is that his name or your name?”

Dudley couldn’t quite keep in the smirk. “That’s his name, miss.”

She wrote it down, and then his name as well, and then holding the paper in front of her, pulled her wand and did something that made both him and his owl glow, briefly, Sith Red.

Maybe he should have named him Anakin? Nope, too late now.

After he thanked the lady at the kiosk they stepped aside and Charlie pulled his wand. The wizard seemed to think for a minute and then did three things in quick succession, or hell, maybe it was just one thing in three parts. Hard to tell, not knowing Latin, which seemed to be what all magic spells happened in.

“Right, so I did a basic notice-me-not for muggles, which of course won’t work on you because you’ve got the charmed connection with little Mister Skywalker here. Great name for a bird, by the way. Then I did a pretty strong on-my-way charm which will help him to remain undisturbed while he’s working, both from larger birds who might be out hunting, as well as wizards who might want to meddle or be idiots. All mail owls have a bit of that, but it never hurts to strengthen it up a bit. Then I did a little tweak on a charm we use with the dragons to get them to nest where we want them to. It’ll make his cage seem more like his home. If you ever get a second owl, or have someone replace this little guy, you’ll want to have Harry or someone break the charm for you, or just get a new cage, I suppose.”

Dudley stuck his hand out and shook Charlie’s as he thanked him for all his help.

By the time they’d wandered back to the circus tents, Luke Skywalker was perched on his right shoulder and Dudley was just carrying the smallish cage by his side. At least with the charm against normal people seeing Luke, if his father ever commented, he could just say that he was thinking about getting a parakeet, and a friend had given him the cage in advance. And in truth, he did not yet have a parakeet.

_ And what Dad didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. _

And as for having the bird in the dorms… well, they couldn’t see him, and there was no rule against having an empty cage in the dorms.

Walking through the tents, Dudley was somewhat distracted. People breathed fire. Someone turned into a snake. There were acrobats and tumblers and someone who could turn into anyone who passed by. And really, nothing was quite as interesting as the world’s most adorable owl who was happily hooting in his ear. Teeny hoots. Tiny hoots. Adorable hoots.

Who knew owls could be cute?

Time flew and before long they were heading back so they could all have a moment to change and freshen up before the wedding and then the coronation. By the time he got to his room - it really was a bit of a hike from the castle out to all the entertainments - Dudley had about fifteen minutes to get ready, but that was more than enough. He put Luke in his cage and put both on the desk in his room, next to a nice little spread that hadn’t been there before; a small bowl of fruit and a pitcher of water with a glass.

Dudley poured a little of the water into Luke’s water dish and was somewhat mesmerized by the piece of cut newspaper on the bottom of the cage.

The adverts were moving.

He blinked and shook his head and got back to business. He changed his clothes quickly and put his dress shoes on and the waterplugs in his pocket, and then remembered to put the lanyard back around his neck. And, hah! He had a breast coat pocket to put the tags in!

He did so, feeling a bit smug.

Next he munched on an apple as he pulled his purchases out of his day bag. T-shirt, snow globe, receipt for Quibbler and Quibble subscriptions - starting tomorrow at breakfast, and that would just be excellent. He folded the t-shirt neatly and put it and the snowglobe in the wardrobe on a shelf, along with the receipts for everything he’d purchased so far. He hung his messenger bag on a peg and put his used clothes on the floor of the wardrobe, slipping his pen and small notebook in an inner coat pocket and his disposable camera in an outer coat pocket. There was a bit of a bulge there, but he wasn’t going to a coronation without a camera.

Checking the time, he hurried through a quick trip to the lav and then bid farewell to Luke Skywalker who seemed to be hooting happily in his new home, though Charlie had warned him to keep the cage door open for the bird to come and go as often as possible, and he had.

It was really obvious, when Dudley arrived in the Great Hall, who was a normal person and who was part of the magical culture. Normal people in formal clothes - suits, dresses, normal. Magical people in something  _ like  _ formal clothes, only combined with something like graduation robes and in the most interesting color combinations. Miss Lovegood, whom he’d met earlier, was perhaps the most normal looking of the crowd - her silver overrobe thing could have passed for a stylized trench coat, really. Some of the people looked like they were just wearing extremely fancy pajamas with heeled boots.

“Hey, Big D,” he heard off from the side and turned to find Harry standing there looking good in a black suit, except instead of a suit coat, it was sort of one of those graduation robes but with lapels.

Dudley grinned and stuck his arm out. They grabbed each other’s hand but then pulled in for a brief hug. “Thanks for the invite, mate. This has been awesome.”

“You been doing alright, then? No trouble getting here?” Harry asked, sticking his hands in his trouser pockets.

“Nah, it was super cool. Making friends, having fun. It’s been good.”

“Yeah?” Harry asked with a wry grin. “Who’ve you met so far?”

Dudley listed it out.

Harry’s eyebrows went up. “You get around.”

Dudley shrugged, grinning. “And how’s Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth, today?”

Harry nodded and laughed a little. “She’s great. Pretty fearless. She gave me a moment off for good behavior to come and say hi, but I do have to get back in a tick. So, uh… you wanna get introduced to the Queen? She says she’s up for it.”

Dudley’s eyes went wide. “Do you think we could get our picture taken with her?”

Harry’s eyes narrowed, and Dudley didn’t rate his chances particularly high. “Gimme the camera.”

He handed it over without a word.

Harry held it up and shook it at him once. “Only if you send me a copy, right?”

“Got it,” Dudley said with wide eyes. “Deal.”

_ A picture of him and Harry with the Queen of England and the Prince of Wales. His mother was going to expire on the spot. And then show all the neighbors. All of them. Twice. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am _**So Intensely Curious**_ (and so is my husband) to know what you think of Dudley's chapter. He'll get another one in a little bit, here, and yes, it will still be December 31st.
> 
> It's going to be December 31st for some time, fyi. I have really quite a lot of story to tell, here. But then, you may have noticed that general trend already. 
> 
> Also, if anyone is curious about the cold war that will occur in the Dursley Household over The Picture, let me know and I'll leave an easter egg in the comments. :) EDIT: Check the comment thread for this chapter. It's there.


	47. Chapter 39: Wherein Hermione does not panic.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She's totally calm. Go ahead. Ask her. TOTALLY CALM, DAMMIT.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, the plot marches on, as does the character development.

“No. We’re going. It will help.”

_ “I don’t want to go out there, Harry,”  _ came the terse voice of his sister, the same tone she adopted when she was determined to get her way, even though she was wrong.

He opened her wardrobe and sifted through piles of things on the shelves, muttering to himself. Jeans, lord the woman had a lot of jeans. He grabbed the top one out and tossed it over his shoulder in her general direction. He grabbed the first long sleeved shirt on the pile and tossed it over his shoulder as well. Then a sweater he didn’t think he’d ever seen her wear. He grabbed a pair of socks at random and tossed it, unseeing.

“That was my head,” came a flat, unamused voice from behind him.

“I have excellent aim, then,” Harry said. “I hope you’re getting dressed at this point.”

“What’s the point?” she asked, her voice on the edge of hysteria.

“You need to get out of this castle and go do nothing. Eat funnel cake. Go to the circus. Pet kneazle kittens. That play about Arthur and Morgana is on today at ten, so that, maybe. I don’t know, something. Get out of your head. So that’s what we’re going to do.”

“I don’t want to be recognized. I just… I just can’t deal with it today,” she said, her voice small and different from the fake calm of before.

“Are you decent? Can I turn around?”

A pathetic non-verbal noise of affirmation crawled across the room.

Harry turned around and walked over to Hermione, pulling her into a hug. Clothes littered the floor at her feet and she was still in her bathrobe.

“Did you get any sleep last night?” he asked into her hair, which she hadn’t done anything with yet.

“Yes. It’s easier to sleep with Viktor. And he gave me a massage. That always helps.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, rubbing her back, thinking briefly to the time last summer before he and Ginny eloped. Sleeping was… bad. And sort of useless. “So, look. I really think it will help you to get out of your pajamas, and out of your head, and out of the castle, and there’s a whole host of stuff going on out in the meadow that is actually designed to be diverting. So let’s just go be one of the crowd. We’ll take precautions. It’ll only be an hour or so, unless you want to stay longer, until lunch.”

Her sigh was big, and with it Harry knew he’d won.

“You promise you won’t leave me?” she asked in that same small voice that broke his heart.

“I’ll even go into the porta-lav with you, if you want.”

She snorted laughter into his shoulder, and then the laughs got louder and he couldn’t help giggling a bit himself. He was imagining squeezing into the space, trying to turn around, getting kneed, and all with a running commentary on the state of the bathroom. Hopefully, with magic, it would be cleaner and nicer than the muggle equivalent, but who knew?

“Okay,” she said, straightening up and wiping her eyes. “Go get your jacket and things while I get dressed. And don’t forget to bring some cash. You’re buying me disgustingly sugary magical festival food, Mr. Potter.”

He grinned at her and kissed her nose. “Absolutely.”

Harry left the room and trotted up the second staircase to the suite directly over Hermione and Viktor’s which had been permanently given to him and Ginny. They had been sternly directed to decorate or redecorate it in whichever way they liked - it would be theirs and only theirs whenever they were in residence, and even when they weren’t. The first thing they did was create a second writing desk in the sitting room, and some bookshelves, but after the mass transfiguration of hard ancient furniture into more modern and comfortable furniture, there wasn’t much more the space needed, really.

Harry ducked into his dressing room and grabbed his coat and the hat, scarf, and mittens Hermione had knitted for him two years ago, his VIP tags which he looped around his neck, and affixed the little belt bag Ginny had made him for Christmas - shockingly useful, that, but that was Ginny all over and twice on Sunday - and double checked that he had, in fact, put his money in there. He put the hat and scarf on, shoved the mittens in his belt bag for now, and tossed his coat over his shoulder before scooting out of his room and running down the stairs to the first floor.

Somewhere in all of this, Harry realized that he felt perfectly light and perfectly calm and perfectly safe. And this, even without Saucepot to calm him down and call him a berk for over thinking things. A small part of him was warning him it wouldn’t last. But the rest of him just grinned and knocked twice before entering Hermione’s suite and calling out, “It’s just me,” so she wouldn’t be nervous.

After all, he’d just had the most peaceful, the most calm, the most fun, and the most relaxing week of his entire life. Sure, there had been some tears. Some of them were totally unstoppable, which was always a bit annoying. But the house party had been just... so wonderful. And William was teaching him to swim every day and after eight days he was actually showing real improvement, William said, and his front crawl was pretty good. And Viktor and Sofia had helped him to pick out a cello, and Sofia was giving him lessons, just like she had taught Viktor, and sure, the sounds he made now with bow-on-strings were pretty awful, but he was  _ doing it.  _ He was making  _ music.  _ Or he might be, sometime in the distant future. 

He’d attended church again, this time on a Sunday morning and just by himself, and though there was no concert beforehand, and there was no string quartet either, there was still a choir and it was beautiful. And it wasn’t so packed, but still when everyone sang and Harry joined in somewhere in the middle of the second verse… something clicked inside of him. He couldn’t imagine he’d ever be any kind of holy roller like he’d seen on telly, but he knew he’d go back next Sunday, as well.

“Oi!” he called out, waiting in the main bedroom area for Hermione to finish in the dressing room, the door of which was pulled to, but not shut completely. “How long does it take to put on a pair of jeans?” he called out, grinning.

“I’ll have you know,” he heard her say in a somewhat strangled voice, as if she was wrestling a baby hippo or something, “the beautiful boots you gave me take some doing to get on.”

“Are your feet swollen?” he called back.

“You can shut the hell up, Harry Potter. My feet are perfectly fine,” she called back, still clearly wrestling a baby hippo into place.

“I’m just saying, that’s a thing with women. I’m learning this. Swollen feet. You have my sympathy.”

“You’re going to be impossible when Ginny finally gets pregnant, aren’t you?” she called out, and halfway through her statement she clearly triumphed over the baby hippo and her voice was smooth and confident again.

“Yup. I don’t want to upset her by starting that reading now, but I know exactly which books I want to get. Muggle and magical. Best of both worlds, you know?”

Hermione came out grinning, which was one of his goals for the morning. “We  _ are  _ siblings. I expect you to share your reading list when the time comes for me.”

Harry grinned in response. “Of course. Now, do you have your tags?” he asked, pulling his out and dangling them at her. 

“Oh! Right! Right…” she ducked back in the dressing room and came back out with them in her hands. With a look of concentration on her face, she slowly put the lanyard over her neck and then shivered and continued to concentrate. Harry knew it was part of the defensive spells that were on her second tag and no one else’s. Everyone else had their name and pertinent details like where they were sitting for the coronation on the second tag. Hermione’s just had listed out her name and titles, but there were several strong spells on it for location, protection, and alarm, and the alarm spells were particularly keyed to anyone putting it on in an unauthorized manner, or taking it off in an unauthorized manner, and she would wear it whenever she left the security of the Enclosure, if only for safety. Only Hermione and the Head Auror knew exactly what Hermione needed to do to take the lanyard on and off safely without tripping any of the alarms, and it was better that way.

Before she put her coat on, he stopped her.

“You’ll be less recognizable if you braid your hair. Just something quick. It doesn’t have to be fancy, and you’ll have your hat on, anyway.”

“Right, right…” she said again, ducking back into the dressing room and coming back two moments later, pulling her hat on.

“Got everything? Wand? Locket?”

She nodded and they headed for the door of the suite.

“What’s Viktor up to this morning?”

“He’s blowing off some steam in the woods with Papa and Cousin Gregor, hunting redcaps and other minor menaces. On foot, because apparently it’s more fun that way.”

Harry privately thought it sounded pretty cool, actually, but he was happy to be spending the morning with Hermione, and to be honest… well, he’d never really gone to a festival before. The World Cup almost counted, except it was all ruined before he could enjoy much more than the quidditch match - which was brilliant, utterly brilliant, mind - and he’d only come on the last day, thus missing the two week long festival that was the  _ entire  _ World Cup.

Well, maybe he’d be able to catch one again, and this time the whole thing.

Really, Harry had never been to a circus. Or a play. Or a concert, though the last two Yule Balls did have rather good bands the Heads had brought in. He was on duty today, but not tomorrow or the final day, but still he wouldn’t mind seeing a bit today, if he could.

They came down the stairs and said hello to a few people in passing, but were largely left alone and when they left The Curtain, they pulled on their scarves and coats, though it wasn’t too bad yet. The weather was crisp and bracing, but the sun was out and there was not a cloud in the sky. It would be an excellent day for flying, and in fact yesterday had been, too, and Bill and Gregor and Harry had thrown the quaffle around a bit while Ginny was on goal and Viktor had taken his inlaws up on Hermione’s broom, flying them over the half-game and probably providing very amusing commentary, knowing Viktor.

Harry was definitely seeing the benefits of a large family and a country estate.

“Around or through?” he asked her, looking at Concordia, the Displaced Roman Atrocity. It really was a bit garish, he thought yet again. Nice swimming pools, though.

“Erm, around, I think.”

They walked around the structure and yet again Harry’s eyes fell on all the smaller empty outbuildings. Of course they were all bigger on the inside, and so most of them looked like nothing more than a row of little tool sheds with very large doors. The stable was massive and desolately empty. It could hold fifty horses. The four barns were gigantic and god only knew how many chickens and pigs and sheep and cows they could all hold, but certainly  _ a lot _ probably covered it. Empty. All empty. Clean swept, silent, with no scent. He remembered the first time, when he’d been shadowing Mory, back when Mory was still Head of the Middens. Mory had been so kind, ordering and organizing the elves under his care, but explaining how composting worked to Harry, who had never heard of it before.

It was all so fascinating, really. Such a beautifully organized system, when it had enough of all the right moving parts, only some of which were elves.

Hermione’s arm looped through his as they came around the front of Concordia to a field of purple chairs.

“Oh, God,” she muttered. 

Of course the ministry would think that the folding chairs needed to be purple.

“Oh, God,” she said again, this time in a slightly more panicked tone.

“Breathe. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. This is not something to worry about. You’ve faced a dragon. Hermione, you  _ rode  _ a dragon. This is nothing.”

“This is nothing,” she whispered to herself as they walked along the side of the giant mass of chairs streaming out from within The Enclosure and onto The Lawn. “I have faced Bellatrix with no wand. This is nothing. This is nothing. I have faced Bellatrix with no wand. This is nothing.”

She kept muttering to herself and Harry thought about what he might do if people started recognizing them. His scar was hidden by his hat, and he’d been thinking, though it was a bit late for it now, about looking into a different pair of glasses, maybe something a little more modern, or maybe something that proclaimed him as Librarian first, Harry Potter second.

Well, he had his Invisibility Cloak in his belt pouch. There was always that. If it got ugly he could always call a house elf to come take them back. But both options were rather extreme. Of course, he could try to appeal to people’s better natures to just let them alone, but Harry couldn’t really see that working. He was sure people, in general,  _ had  _ better natures. He just wasn’t well conversant in them.

Or he could just wing it.

Plan firmly decided upon, Harry made his way to a booth which had a sign that could be read from a quarter mile away. ‘DEEP FRIED EVERYTHING’. It sounded just the place to start at 8:30 in the morning. Coming closer he saw other fabulously intriguing signs. ‘SAUSAGE-INNA-BUN’ ‘JACKET POTATOES’ ‘STEAK-ONNA-STAKE’ ‘ICE CREAMS’ It was five degrees out, but of course there was ice cream.

There were a surprising number of people in the queues at half-nine, and perhaps the longest queues were for the ice cream kiosk, the tea kiosks, and the deep fried everything kiosk. Harry and Hermione stood quietly at the back of the line until the person in front of them casually looked behind them, gave them a friendly smile, had a moment of obvious recognition in which eyes widened and mouth gaped, and then ushered them ahead of them in line in such a manner that there was really no saying no. Which caught the attention of the person ahead of them.

Same thing happened.

And the couple ahead of them.

Same thing happened.

They had made their way, in the course of twenty seconds, halfway up the line until they stood behind some fifth-year Gryffindors Harry was vaguely aware of.

“Whotcha, Harry. Morning, Your Majesty. Right, yeah, I suppose you ought to go on ahead, then.”

Harry blinked, said thank you and as the process continued, he wondered if the new Head of Gryffindor, Madam Tigris, who was also the new Professor for Care of Magical Creatures, had sat down everyone in the house and told them quite strictly how to address Hermione, because the ‘Your Majesty’ stuff from the fifth years?

That was new.

“Know what you want?” Harry asked Hermione quietly as they waited on the person who was getting served just ahead of them.

“Good grief. They really do fry anything. Pizza? Deep fried Pizza?”

“That what you want?” Harry asked, thinking he might get it, too.

“Ugh, no. I’ll take some fried dough, please. With cinnamon and sugar on top.”

“You rebel,” Harry deadpanned.

“Yes, well. I do what I can.”

The person behind the counter shouted,  _ “Next!”  _ and Harry gave her their order. “Yep, that’ll be,” but then she trailed off, because she had looked up. “Uh…”

Harry just grinned. “How much?” he prompted.

“Uh, it’s on the house. Enjoy.”

“Thank you,” Harry and Hermione chorused and shifted over to let the next person in line order, as they waited for things to be fried.

“So, you want a bite of my pizza?” Harry asked. Not that he had it yet, but he felt that perhaps it would be a good thing to keep Hermione talking about ridiculous things, like deep fried dinner menu items, rather than letting her dwell on the fact that all the people around her knew she was there.

Hermione seemed to think about it for a second. “May as well. Thanks. You can have some of my fried dough.”

Harry grinned at her. “Cheers,” he said in thanks.

Their order was called and the fried things duly handed over. As they walked away, Hermione immediately tore off a bit and offered it up.

“Here. Eat this and enjoy it before your palate is utterly ruined,” she said and when he opened his mouth, she popped it in.

Harry closed his mouth around the hot, sweet, fried bit of nothing and groaned. It all just melted in his mouth and it was stunningly delicious. Once he finished with it, he spoke. “Oh, wow.” One more thing he hadn’t even realized he’d missed out on, living with the Dursleys. He’d need to start making a list.

Church.

Libraries.

Festivals.

Really good Indian food.

Really good Thai food.

Live music.

Circuses.

Learning to swim.

Decorating a Christmas tree.

Travelling.

Ginny was talking about taking a honeymoon after graduation, maybe going somewhere neither of them had been before, and Harry was totally stoked. They’d made a very long list of places that interested them with the intention of crossing some off, but so far everything was just so  _ interesting _ that they never got around to crossing anything off, at all. They only bought more travel guides, both muggle and magical, for they were both determined to see the best of both worlds.

Every country in Europe was on their list. As was Iceland, Russia, China, Japan, Cambodia, Singapore, New Zealand, and Australia. Egypt wasn’t, at first, because Ginny had already been with her family. Neither was Romania, at first. But then Harry snuck them on anyway and Ginny only grinned at him when she saw. But also Tanzania, Madagascar, Kenya, and South Africa. Brazil, Canada, Mexico, the US, Costa Rica, Argentina, Peru, and the Carribean.

Suffice to say they hadn’t yet decided on a single place to go when there were so many options.

Hermione was nudging them closer to the circus and Harry was all for it. It was the French circus today, he remembered. Narcissa had been telling him that the magical community in France was known for having some really great circuses and Harry was excited to see what it involved.

He kind of hoped there would be acrobats, like the graceful ones he’d seen in adverts for Cirque du Soleil.

Now that would be something for the bucket list. To actually  _ see  _ Cirque du Soleil. Harry wondered if he should actually start making a bucket list. Or if, perhaps, with the travel locations, he’d already begun.

He snapped out of it and offered the first bite of his deep fried pizza to Hermione, who took it. He waited as she ate it.

“Well?” he asked.

“Not nearly as bad as I’d feared,” she admitted.

“A glowing recommendation,” he sagely agreed.

He ate his pizza in silence - and damn it was good. Deep frying a slice of pizza - who knew? When he finished up he wiped his fingers on the serviette and stuffed it in a pocket. “So, what’s your favorite part of a circus?” he asked.

“The clowns,” Hermione answered quickly.

Thoughts of an American horror novelist floated through his head. He’d seen adverts for that movie, too, though he was hardly interested in introducing  _ more  _ horror into his life. “Really,” he said, and it wasn’t quite a question.

“I love that they never take themselves seriously,” Hermione said with a rueful grin. “I suppose I admire that about them. They stumble and bumble and act silly, but really you can tell there’s so much preparation and strength and coordination that goes into looking like that. But as prepared as they are, as seriously as they might take their job, they obviously don’t take  _ themselves  _ seriously.”

“Huh,” Harry said, determined to look at clowns, should there be any, in a new light. Still, the adverts for the Stephen King version of clowns had been… bloody gruesome.

“What about you? Have you been to a circus before?” She squeezed his arm against herself and there was something in her tone, but Harry didn’t think it was pity. It was more like… compassion.

“Nope,” he said, unashamed. “But acrobats. I’m looking forward to the acrobats, if there are any,” he said with confidence.

“It’s not a circus without acrobats,” Hermione said loftily. “We got me fried dough. Let’s go get you some acrobats.”

Harry laughed and was glad to see Hermione smiling back at him. It wasn’t long before they were among the tents. There were huge marquees with the sort of bright and sometimes garishly offensive color patterns he’d come to expect in the magical world, but these patterns were slightly less garish - because the French just innately had more style? Possibly. 

When Harry caught sight of a fortune teller’s tent, he couldn’t resist. “In the spirit of carnivals and circuses, I really think we should get our fortunes told.”

Hermione glared at him. “Have you not had enough of prophesies? Really? I mean,  _ really?”  _

Harry grinned. “Come on. It’ll be a lark.”

“Oh, fine,” Hermione grumbled. “But if she tells us we’re destined for boring lives with no romance I’ll know she’s a total fraud. Besides, she’ll probably recognize the both of us.”

Harry snorted. “I’m fine with a boring life. I really am. I’m totally ready for a boring life, Hermione. And Ginny’s not all that romantic, really. So that’d be spot on for me.”

Hermione’s sigh was a highly expressive thing, halfway to a scoff, really.

They approached the smaller tent with a mixture of trepidation and determination. At the least, Harry thought, it should be good for getting Hermione’s mind on other things.

They were welcomed in by a charming and quite tall French witch who wore none of the bangles and scarves reminiscent of one of the Romany Gypsies that had so characterized his time in Divination class, and Harry was personally quite intrigued.

The witch had sat them down, given them both a silent once over, and declared what she could offer them, just after Hermione had ground out,  _ “No prophesies.” _

_ “Oui,”  _ the woman said, agreeing. “For you, today, I read your aura. I speak with your spirit animals. This says much about your present and something about your past. Whether or not it leads you to action in the future is entirely up to  _ monsieur et madame.”  _

_ “Mademoiselle,”  _ Hermione corrected and Harry had to put his hand on her knee and squeeze.

The fortune teller apologized and he could see the deep breath Hermione was taking to calm down. Things were quiet in the little tent and while the fortune teller had her eyes closed, possibly concentrating, possibly thinking of what to make up, Harry examined the room in which he found himself.

They sat at a little, low table, on small little stools. The room was largely empty, though much larger on the inside, of course. The room had a very formal feel to it, the top half of the walls kind of a light green, and the bottom half of the walls a light wood in a design he was sure had a name, though Harry had no idea what it could be. The ceiling wasn’t flat, but had sort of sculpted designs on it, all centered around a chandelier that did not hold candles, but rather little spheres of yellow light. The floor was the sort of hardwood his aunt would have been in raptures over, though where they were was covered by a circular carpet with a fancy design on it.

There was the door to the outside, and another door besides. There was a small cabinet off to the side that was closed. There was a stack of other little stools, folded up, so that many more people could crowd in and sit down, if they wished. And behind the fortune teller there was a large window - not the sort one might find in a tent, but a large picture window one might find in a front sitting room. Except it wasn’t the rest of the circus he saw, behind the fortune teller as she concentrated. It was the view from Gryffindor Tower. From his old dorm in Gryffindor Tower.

Harry hadn’t realized until this moment, but it was really quite a lovely view of the Scottish Highlands. He calmed, relaxing into it, as he looked out the window at the soft colors of Scotland in the winter. Some snow, but not everywhere. Shades of brown and green and white, with the wispy blue of the sky.

It seemed like he sat there for a long time, staring at the view, getting calmer and calmer, but really, when the fortune teller spoke and Harry snapped out of it, he honestly had no idea how much time might have passed. It might have only been just a moment, really.

Her eyes narrowed, and her French accent was much thicker than Fleur’s. “You carry guilt, possibly from actions in war, around war. This war all you young Britons fought in, instead of your elders. This is profound in your auras. It is very big. It is  _ very  _ big. It makes you unstable. Is not good. It is eating you alive, even now, like a cancer. But there are streaks of health in both of you. Moreso in mademoiselle. Mademoiselle has perhaps been doing more work than her monsieur to get rid of this guilt. And the bond between you is good. But you are not married, not to each other, nor… lovers… You are... brother-sister? You must lean on each other more, I think. But not just each other. Whatever other relationships you have. You must use them all to come back into balance. Now, is enough for auras, which are not so healthy. You work on that, yes? Now, I call to your spirit animals and we see what we see.”

Harry held Hermione’s hand as they sat on the little stools on the other side of a small table.

“Normal case, people have one, perhaps three spirit animals. Sometimes more, for special things. One is usually small. The others are… what they need to be. Small animal is your tender side, yes? For mademoiselle, it is… oh, what is word,  _ la loutre.” _

“An otter,” Hermione quietly supplied with a smile. “La loutre est the otter.”

“Yes,” the fortune teller agreed, with a smile. “Otter is water and land animal, which means you easily move between two worlds, and you need both to be happy. And monsieur’s is... a snake. But snake is not bad. Snake means longevity and wisdom, but snake needs warmth, needs love, or you will not flourish. Now for monsieur…”

The fortune teller trailed off and Harry looked at her expectantly. This was turning out to be not exactly the lark he had in mind, but he was transfixed.

“Monsieur has a horse. Horse can mean freedom or captivity. This one has been broken for use… yes, it is, it is a  _ warhorse.  _ For use in battle, yes?”

Harry nodded blindly, thinking about her words. Thinking about captivity.

“This warhorse, it needs love. It is tired. You may not have this warhorse for long, monsieur. It may leave you and you may get the new animal, different animal in its place. Yes, perhaps… perhaps we do that now. Yes? You would like this, yes?”

Harry shrugged, his heart torn for some reason. “I suppose. If it needs to rest.”

“Yes, It does. So, what we do is this. You must say the words, say them out loud. You must thank the warhorse for its protection and valor, for its faithful service, and you must tell it that you love it, and it deserves to go and rest now, and if it wishes to come back later when it is rested, it may do so.”

Harry took a deep breath and tried to do as he was asked, but his voice broke and tears just started  _ falling  _ again and he couldn’t keep them inside. Hermione got up and stood behind him, holding him from behind with her head next to his, silently as he choked the words out. And when he was finished, there was true silence in the tent as he tried so desperately to hold in the gasps and the tears.

“Breathe,” Hermione whispered to him. “Deep breath.”

He did so, and the tears flowed unabated. A cloth - a handkerchief? - wiped at his face and he grabbed it to blow his nose so he could breathe again through it, but of course it just clogged more firmly.

He didn’t even know why he was crying, really. But it was so suddenly all just  _ there _ and there was no trying to hide it. As he calmed, finally, Hermione sat on her little stool again and Harry sighed, slumping on his own small stool.

“Yes, now only two for you, monsieur,” said the fortune teller, and somehow her voice seemed so kind. “But this will be more than enough, for I see your second is  _ le oiseau phénix, _ the phoenix bird. Not uncommon to acquire this spirit animal in times of war. She may not be with you long, or she may linger, I do not know. This one… she likes you, yes. And she is still strong. The phoenix birds, they are not worn out by bloodshed if they are stronger than their host.” Quickly the woman on the other side of the table added, “I mean no offence to you, monsieur. Ah. Yes. To continue, the presence of a phoenix bird means the willingness to sacrifice for others, and in spirit and in body their presence changes the odds to be more in your favor. You are a favored one in war,  _ jeune monsieur.”  _

Hermione snorted and muttered, “We know,” but her tone wasn’t scathing, not like it might have been.

“Thank you,” Harry croaked out first to the fortune teller, then to Hermione, who scooted her stool closer and put her arm around his waist. When he looked at her askance, she explained.

“I’m bracing myself for my own. It might go to an ugly place.”

Harry grinned at her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “I love you,” he whispered to her, leaning his forehead against hers, “and you’re never getting rid of me.”

“Then let my parents adopt you,” she whispered back and Harry’s eyes widened. “Make it complete and you get all of us forever.”

He swallowed hard and thought of his swimming lessons. Of Helen’s quiet care of him during the Christmas Eve service. Of the heart to heart with William, the real reason he and Ginny were putting off having children indefinitely: he was terrified to be a father, and fail.

“They… wouldn’t… want…” He couldn’t seem to make the words come out of his mouth, though he knew them well enough. It was totally ridiculous. Totally and utterly ridiculous to imagine that Helen and William wanted to saddle themselves with his wretched self. Not even the Dursleys had wanted him and they were about as baseline normal as a family got. It was a ridiculous thought. Totally and beautifully ridiculous.

“They wouldn’t replace your parents, or your godfather. Honestly, Harry, they’d replace Vernon and Petunia,” Hermione said, but she said it in that characteristic know-it-all tone he’d grown somehow to love. It was a very comforting tone. It meant his sister was around, and nothing would get too terrible, because she wouldn’t let it.

Harry laughed despite himself and was left somewhere between laughter and tears and somehow with one foot in both places.

There was a discreet clearing of a throat and Harry was forcibly reminded that someone else was in the room, witnessing his personal crises and meltdowns. Lovely. Right.

“Shall we continue with mademoiselle?” the fortune teller asked with a kind smile. 

Harry nodded jerkily and prepared himself to give his sister support and wondered just exactly what was going to happen next. He watched intently as the fortune teller’s eyes glazed a bit and considered not for the first time that this witch was a far different person than Professor Trelawney. There was no drama at all, and no dire predictions. Not even the situation with the warhorse or the dreadful state of their auras (predictable, and he would check with Luna about that later) was presented in anything like the melodrama he’d expected. It was just a fact, and a gentle reminder they still had work to do. Which, really, they knew before this, but you know, confirmation is useful, sometimes.

Another voice saying, ‘No, really, Harry. You need to work out your shit. It’s important. So man-up and talk about your pain.’

The truth was inconvenient, sometimes, Harry thought.

“Oh, my…” the fortune teller said, and it brought his attention to the present. He held Hermione a little tighter around the shoulders. “Mademoiselle has more than three spirit animals. Mademoiselle has female lion, has unicorn, has green dragon, small, possibly Welsh, variety? Lion is power, strength, royalty and symbol of your England. Unicorn is purity, wisdom, and innocence, which does not make sense with the amount of guilt in your aura, but it is quite determined to stay with you. Is symbol also of your Scotland, yes? Dragon is symbol of freedom, protection, knowledge, wealth, yes. Is also symbol of this country, Wales, this green dragon. All these animals are  _ quite _ fond of you, and they are all manifesting… well, they are all quite big. You have been speaking with them, perhaps? They seem very  _ present _ .”

“Erm, no,” Hermione said flatly, and Harry was watching the entire proceeding with interest.

“Mmm. You should,” the fortune teller replied. “They would like that. And tell them what they need to do, yes? Should you need their aide. You may specifically ask for help. They are here to guide and guard you. And they seem eager. Quite eager. 

“It is not always so common to have the magical beast as the spirit animal, but it does happen. It means you have great potential to change the world, mademoiselle and monsieur, both. In war it seems every effort changes everything, but war is not what I speak about, now. You understand? If monsieur’s phoenix bird was simply for war, it would have gone now, but  _ le oiseau phénix  _ is not just for battle, it is also for healing.”

Harry nodded. The fortune teller had given them a lot to think about and that was perhaps the most surprising part of all - Harry really had thought it would be a bit of fun, and they would try to keep straight faces, and then go away laughing about it. He hadn’t expected someone… well,  _ useful. _

They finished up in the tent and when the fortune teller demurred at first, explaining that all the services of the circus were provided for today, when pressed she did agree that a little something extra was never disagreeable. He pressed the galleon into her hand with his genuine gratitude and walked out of the tent after Hermione and looped his arm through hers.

“Well,” she said with a tone of finality. “That was less woolly than I would have thought. What are the odds she knew who we were?”

Harry shrugged as they walked along slowly, sightless eyes not really seeing the circus around them. “Even chances, maybe. And there’s a lot she could have made educated guesses on. Except your otter.” He shrugged again. “But whether or not she could see all of that, I think she did tell us the truth, maybe that we already knew, but maybe that we needed reminding of, you know? I… I think I need to get serious about my healing,” he said, and the last was almost a whisper.

There was silence between them for a while after that, but it was very comfortable. Finally, he broke it.

“So, what is it you do that makes you so far ahead of me in healing? Is it books you’ve read, or something?”

Hermione explained about Viktor not letting her run away. How five nights out of seven they spent time going deep, being honest, having compassion. How it was the technique Viktor learned from his father, when his father wouldn't let him run away from his pain.

“But don’t you worry it will… I don’t know, just scar Viktor? I mean, to know about all of this? To know how much it hurts?”

Hermione sighed. “Well, yes and no. I know it’s a possibility, but I don’t worry about it because he’s making a choice. And I’ll give him whatever help he needs in return, whatever I can give, and support him in getting help elsewhere, likely from his parents who are very good at that sort of thing. But it’s very important to me that I honor his choice, Harry. You honored my choice, and I like to think we won the war because of it. I  _ didn’t  _ honor my parents' choice and I live with the daily guilt of what other options I might have closed to them, to us, because of it, and how close I really was to losing them forever. I’m  _ haunted _ by the fact that I took away their autonomy, Harry, and I’m sure as hell not going to make that mistake twice.”

Harry took as much of that in as he could. “I know I should talk to Gin more about… well… all of this stuff. But I just hate putting it on her. I mean, there’s so much more than she imagines. So much I’ve… well, I’ve never told her. Some stuff I’ve never even told you,” he whispered.

She squeezed his arm and leaned into him briefly as they walked. They paused to watch some clowns… well, clowning around with the passersby and when the clowns noticed they elicited at best rather sad smiles from the young couple arm-in-arm they made a  _ special effort _ to make them truly smile.

It didn’t really work, but he could tell that Hermione was enjoying it, and Harry did see her point about the line of what to take seriously and what to let slip over into the realm of the ridiculous.

Life lessons from a clown. Huh.

Harry did manage to truly smile, but only when Hermione was shaking with laughter, and then, really, he smiled at her. He had a fleeting thought that her little otter would approve of this.

And though he didn’t realize it, he was right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the love and support you've offered me as I've posted and written parts of this story. It's truly a delight to see that more people than just myself and my husband are enjoying the story as it unfolds. Thank you!


	48. Chapter 40: Wherein the Queen shushes her hindbrain.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Never underestimate the mental fortitude of someone who has survived The Blitz.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that this story has been a balm and a relief for many of the people who have read it during the pandemic. You know, it's been a balm and a relief for me, too. Sometimes in writing it. Sometimes in reading it. Sometimes in sharing it with my husband. A little bit of connection, of normalcy, of humor, of love, of healing, all served with a hefty dose of romantic and dramatic escapism.
> 
> This is my favorite dish. I'm glad to know you enjoy it too.

An old, elegant lady drove the standard transmission Land Rover with the confidence born of knowing how to fix it if it broke. She drove around the road closure sign and past the official vehicles only sign and by the time she reached the official sign demarking the entrance to the Pendragon Preserve (temporarily closed to the public), she could see their escort sitting on the top of the sign, easily five feet in the air, swinging his feet as he waited. They had met before, but somehow today he looked younger and more carefree than before. 

She looked in the side mirror of the car and was satisfied to see a medium sized lorry which had paced her for some time, approach quite close before stopping. The younger woman in the back seat got out of the car and went to go talk with the lorry driver.

The old, elegant lady watched as the extremely young man perched on top of the entrance sign gracefully hopped down from his perch, like a born athlete, and she wondered that he didn’t open the gate before he approached the car, though he did pull a broomstick out from behind the sign where it had been sitting. As he approached the car, he leaned it against the bonnet in the front, presumably where the lorry driver could not see.

She rolled the window down.

“Good afternoon, Your Majesty!” he chirped. “How was your drive?”

“Just fine, thank you.”

“Is the lorry behind you lost?”

The old, elegant lady didn’t bother to hide her smile. “No, my dear boy. It’s bearing our presents to Hermione.”

The boy whistled. “You mean business, don’t you, Ma’am?”

“Usually,” she deadpanned in a way she knew would make Charles smile on the inside, at least. “You’ll be able to have someone come fetch them?”

“Erm…” the boy replied, obviously lost in thought. “Yes, Ma’am. As soon as he’s gone, I’ll call someone. Anything fragile or alive in there?”

“Some are quite fragile, yes.”

“Pardon me for interrupting. I’ll have the driver put the crates just here, unless there’s a better place? Should we wait to load it onto their transport?” Thus spoke Pembroke, the ultra-efficient secretary.

“Mr. Potter?” the old, elegant lady asked, deferring to the man-child.

“Uh, no, right there’s just fine. My transport guy can handle them from right there, though I will wait until the lorry is well out of sight, if you don’t mind.”

Charles drew Mr. Potter around the other side of the car for a chat to catch up and presumably discuss the last letters that neither had time to respond to in the busyness of the holidays and Pembroke left to reassure the lorry driver and sign his forms.

And the old, elegant lady waited.

She did as she was taught as a girl, a simple Indian breathing exercise. It had always been a rather calming and soothing way to pass the minutes. She hadn’t always waited  _ patiently  _ as a girl and though her mother had been just as impatient as she, just better able to hide it, her father had figured out how to truly relax in a stressful moment, though he never seemed to employ it for middling stress, which had seemed to encompass all the rest of his brief life. Regardless, anything Papa had to teach was worth learning and Elizabeth had ignored this lesson no more than any other.

And so, she breathed. When the lorry finally drove away, she was even calmer than before. And when the boy started talking, she looked up, and listened, her breath still soft and gentle.

“Right then.  _ Trip! It’s safe to come here!”  _

With a tiny pop, a  _ house elf  _ appeared.

The boy bent down and had a quiet conversation with the elf, gesturing to the crates and undoubtedly explaining what must be done.

House Elves. 

The First Tent Peg. 

From all Hermione had said, it was as if the rest of the wizarding world treated them like the African slaves of two and three and four hundred years ago. Given Hermione’s own African ancestry, it was hardly surprising she went on a crusade to free them all when she was a child, though of course, it would hardly require a biracial ethnicity to hold such views.

But if what she had said in her last letter after Christmas was true…  _ well.  _ It was almost entirely the opposite, then, wasn’t it?

Magic given to humans was a bribe given to a small portion of humanity so they would stand watch against the rest to keep the sentient magical beings safe from other humans, and humans  _ being humans _ had automatically considered that this made them supreme, promptly forgot all their promises and started in on their own rewritten history and attempts at world conquest. And so the house elves  _ took one for the team  _ and agreed to live with their human pets and be at their beck and call, rather like an average human would, with an extremely needy purebred dog or cat. All in order to keep them in line, and keeping to their side of the contract that the humans no longer remembered they had signed.

_ ‘Who is the potter and who is the pot?’ _

Elizabeth considered one of her favorite quotes as she looked at the small magical and entirely sentient creature who had more magic in his little pinky finger than all the witches and wizards she had ever met had, taken altogether.

And then the boy straightened and the house elf clicked his long fingers and he and the crates were gone in a little crack of air.

As if this were nothing at all remarkable, the boy grabbed his broom from the bonnet of the Land Rover.

“Mind if I put this on your roof, before I join you?” he asked brightly. 

When she agreed, he just placed it gently, then pulled his wand and whispered a word as he gestured at it. He grinned and stowed his wand, then pushed his glasses up his nose ever so slightly. She waited as he got in the car and settled himself in with the door closed. Pembroke soon followed on the other side.

“Mr. Potter, the gate is still closed,” she said patiently.

“Oh, sorry, ma’am. It’s not, you know. Just an illusion. There’s also a compulsion you’re likely feeling, not wanting to approach, but that’s all part of the wards. All you need to do is keep driving straight. Close your eyes if it gets too bad. The road is straight for a while, and no one is on it, on the other side.”

“How practical,” she murmured, putting the car into gear and easing forward. It was fascinating, knowing what was true, but all the same watching the dread within her continue to mount until some part of her, possibly her reptilian hindbrain, was  _ absolutely convinced  _ that a horror greater than death would come to pass if she made it past the gate.

Happily, she had lived through the Blitz and was fully conversant with mortal dread. 

Elizabeth took a deep breath, told her hindbrain to shush, and put it into third.

Twenty feet past the gate that wasn’t actually closed the tension broke and three out of the four people in the car could breathe again, though their adrenaline was high.

“Well,” Charles said.

“Indeed,” his mother agreed.

“I think I just faced death,” her assistant, Ms. Henrietta Pembroke, said, from the seat behind, next to Mr. Potter.

“Good news, then,” Mr. Potter replied. “You’re still here.”

The car was silent during the seven mile winding drive, but the forest around them was beautiful. They passed turns for visitor’s information and the ranger’s office and continued past a dead end sign and a no parking sign and an official vehicles only sign.

“You can pull through these crowds, ma’am, and park the car right outside that big standing stone up there, connected to the enclosure wall. The elves will move your car around the back and secure it, later.”

The old, elegant lady drove through carnival folk, school children, oddly dressed people, normally dressed people, and occasionally staring people until the crowds diminished and the castle could be clearly seen.

From the side, it seemed so very small, just a short, rather squat and windowless tower surrounded by a wall that wouldn’t do much to keep people out, though the New Palace in all its Roman splendour was quite something. Hermione had assured her that the castle was astonishingly spacious inside, and Elizabeth rather looked forward to a bit of a tour at some point.

Mr. Potter reminded them of the schedule of events as they walked through the much less crowded Enclosure and finally into Cair Paravel itself which seemed quite honestly as if it could hold bunk beds and no more.

And then, instead of walking into a tiny stone keep, Elizabeth walked into a Great Room as grand and over large as any she had been in. It lacked only hunting trophies and bits of old armor.

Some portion of Elizabeth’s brain wanted to lodge complaints, but she told it, too, to shush.

Just off the Great Room, Mr. Potter showed them the Green Salon, which was the drawing room put at their disposal for their stay. He showed them to their rooms, introduced each of them to the house elves assigned for their care, and told them that he would meet them in the Green Salon whenever they had finished resting.

Elizabeth went into her room and found it to be simple, but well appointed. She walked into the dressing room and opened the wardrobe to find her clothes already hung up, including the ermine cape. The leather box with her crown was sitting on the dressing table. She checked on it, opened the box and touched it, and it was as solid and real as it ever was.

Examining the rooms a bit more closely, she set her purse down on the dressing table and took off her gloves to be laid aside it. The fireplace, which seemed to be shared on the wall between the dressing room and the bedroom, but also, somehow, like an Escher painting, shared with the sitting room, was lit and putting out an amazing amount of heat, but she hadn’t remembered seeing any smoke coming up from the small tower that the castle appeared to be on the outside. 

Also there was a window. More than one, really.

She walked to the shutters that were closed and pulled them open and was greeted with a view of the top of the New Palace, or Concordia, she supposed, and far beyond it the stage and beyond that, the forest, for miles. Her room was on the first floor, and so the view was not as stunning as perhaps it might have been at the top most level.

Then again, how could there be windows?  _ There were no windows on the outside of this squat little tower keep!  _

She shook her head and closed the shutters, wondering if her room would be warm at all in the night, or if all the heat would just be frittered away out the shutters, which did not look to be at all insulative.

Well, if worse came to it, she did have an ermine cape that she had often wished was a little less warm.

She refreshed herself with the facilities that Hermione had written about at amusing length, took her purse and gloves and left the room to make her way down to their dedicated sitting room. After all, their journey had been quite easy and she was eager to have a chat with Mr. Potter and a look about the place.

Elizabeth was quickly joined by Pembroke and Charles, and she couldn’t blame them for foregoing a time to rest in lieu of a time to explore a magical castle and grounds. When offered various choices, Elizabeth opted to first tour the castle in which they found themselves.

Mr. Potter led them through a variety of sitting rooms, studies, and a small library and pointed out the lavatories on the ground floor, a floor that circled around and then came back to the Great Hall. When they passed by one entirely empty room devoid of anything at all save a window that opened to the back wall of the enclosure, she was informed it was for specialty spellcasting, when one needed a controlled space.

As they walked back through the circle they were making and returned to the Great Hall with its two heart-shaped staircases going to the first floor, Elizabeth considered that if the rest of the tower castle was of the same approximate size as this gigantic circuit they had just made, it was fairly sizable. Still quite small as castles went, and without the amount of space one would imagine servants would need for living and travel and the service they rendered, but apparently the kitchens, service rooms, and elf quarters were all below ground and access was only open to the actual elves in question. There wasn’t even a stairway going down below the ground floor.

The castle was also curiously devoid of… amusements. There was no billiards room, nor gun room, nor trophy room, and the salons were not set up for cards, or with instruments or radios or televisions or any such thing. It was very clearly a castle meant for housing and providing for many people, meant to be maintained by elf and no one else, and a place of study and retreat, but not entertainment, per se. It spoke volumes about its designers. Then again, why waste space on fripperies when one doesn’t need to?

“Are you alright with more staircases, ma’am?” Mr. Potter kindly asked, pulling her out of her analysis of the squat little tower that was, as it turned out, very practical indeed.

“So long as they have the good sense to remain stationary, I am,” she replied.

Mr. Potter laughed. “So she’s told you that about Hogwarts, then? No, I think this castle was probably built the old fashioned way, with stone masons.”

“But how is there a set of windows in my rooms?” Charles asked.

“Oh, I asked the Head Elf about that. Fascinating, really. No mortar. Between the stones, you know? Easier to work with, for expansion spells. And when it comes to defense, a curse, an arrow, or a bullet, I suppose, would have to get the exact dead center between the stone blocks in order to get inside. Messenger owls can do it, of course, but I wouldn’t recommend sticking anything out the windows. Not sure what would happen, then. But don’t worry. There’s a medi-tent. We can reattach your hand if necessary. Mmm, not sure about your head, though. Better safe than sorry.”

“I see. Magic can be quite dangerous,” he replied.

Mr. Potter shrugged. “That’s true. But likewise electricity, and standing too close to the gap in the Tube, and crossing a street improperly, not to mention all forms of non-magical transportation. Magic is no more dangerous than technology and engineering. It’s all in how you use it, or misuse it. Hermione and I both grew up non-magical. It’s a bit of a rough transition, and they sort of just throw you in the deep end of the pool. 

“But here we go, all the rooms on this floor and the last are all guest suites, and now that you’re here we’ve got a full house. There’s a nursery on this floor as well, and that’s still empty. We do have five kids staying with us, but one’s an infant and the others are school age, and so they’re all just staying with their parents or in little Teddy’s case, his grandparents. We’re popping up to the third floor, which is as high as the tower goes. It’s Hermione and Viktor’s study and it spans the whole floor. You’ll get the best views out the windows, and get a sense of how large the Curtain really is. 

“Here we are. Now, each section has environmental charms that allow for sound and air to be circulated only through and out those windows, which is handy in the brewing areas, and allows for many different people to be working up here without bothering one another. The Pendragons apparently valued focus over privacy. 

“These bookshelves and nooks run the entire inner wall - windows to the outside of the Curtain, but none to the inside, anywhere. Now, Hermione brought a few books to look at over the break, and I understand that Viktor has already unpacked his three or four hundred books that he’s collected so far, but everything else you know, books and scrolls, it’s all from a thousand years ago, and more. Most of it is in Latin, a bunch in Old Welsh, some a smattering of other languages, including an ancient form of Greek, but not sure which one. It’ll take a team of librarians and scholars decades to do them all justice in translation, but of course there are translation spells that will give a rough sense of the contents, at least for the ones in Latin. Right now I think Hermione’s priority with the library is simply to create a catalogue, which wasn’t in the vault, or possibly it  _ is  _ one of the books and they just haven’t found it, yet. Possibly I’ll help with that task. I like the idea that it will be calm and gentle, with the highest danger the possibility of paper cuts. Besides, there are probably fascinating things buried in all these books and scrolls. Might be fun to discover them.

“Over here is Hermione’s study. That fireplace is floo connected. It’s the only one, besides the one in the Great Hall downstairs, and this one is only for Viktor and Hermione’s incoming use. Anyone could go out, of course. This is one of the study areas, and next this is one of the potions areas. This entire back area that is clear of furniture is actually for charms practice and dueling. Oh. I see my mother-in-law is brewing something over here. Would you mind an introduction? We can go back the other way, otherwise.”

Introductions were inevitable. Elizabeth gestured for Mr. Potter to continue.

He said something then, but he was half across the room boundary and they couldn’t hear what it was. The room boundary concept was a fascinating one, and an excellent idea for libraries and such. 

The matronly woman at the cauldron with curly red hair did raise one hand to halt them for a moment before turning their way with a smile.

Mr. Potter leaned back in their room. “It’s alright now, she’s at a pausing place.”

He made the introductions, and Mrs. Molly Weasley was very pleased to make their acquaintance.

“And, at what do you work so diligently?”

“Just a few medicinal potions. Headache, Pepper-up, Sobering, Wound-close. This being a new household, they haven’t much in the cupboards for emergencies, you know, and with fifty people in residence, there are bound to be emergencies. I hate being idle, and there are a few hours before the wedding.” She chattered on a bit and while Elizabeth’s mind glazed over the actual content, it was interesting to know that mothering figures were a constant in the world, magical or not. There was no kitchen for this woman to be in, to make a casserole or three for the freezer, but here she was, kindly stocking the newlywed’s medicine cabinet instead of out enjoying the circus, or the concerts. 

The urge to take care of the people one loved was strong, indeed. Elizabeth was pleased that Hermione and Viktor had more people who cared for them than besides just their own parents. This was a sign of health and vitality of which she heartily approved.

Mr. Potter moved them along quickly enough and it seemed as if this side were a mirror image to the other, with Mr. Krum’s desk in the opposite corner to his fiance’s. Everything was quite clean and tidy, and here she saw, the leather-bound books made way for more modern editions, though few in English. They all looked German and Russian, or she supposed, Bulgarian.

In between the windows periodically there were very fine tapestries, only some of which were as stationary as one might assume stitchwork would be. The rugs seemed to be largely Persian in nature and in excellent condition, though one imagines that might be magic at play. There was the odd animal skin, but not as often as one might imagine for the time period. The most notable one, perhaps, was underneath Mr. Krum’s desk and that one might actually be the skin of a polar bear, or something similar if there were magical equivalents.

A magical polar bear. Presumably it would be more fearsome, not less, and that did not bear thinking.

In the two sitting areas around the fireplaces off of each of their desks, all of the chairs and lounges were not the ancient style she saw in her own sitting room - truly ancient and probably very uncomfortable - but thoroughly modern versions of sofas and chairs, and seemingly all of them had throw pillows which seemed to be upholstered in crocodile, or possibly some other gigantic reptile upto and including dragon. It was certainly a reptilian leather.

Dragons. 

Elizabeth mentally shook her head.

_ Dragons.  _

St. George and St. Michael were looking so much more interesting as possible historical figures, though of course Michael was an archangel.

Oh dear. Angels were probably much more than a metaphor, weren’t they?

She mentally sighed. So much to reexamine. Still, she was gratified that there were not, to Hermione’s knowledge, any hidden or maurading or nesting dragons in the British Isles. Though of course  Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them cited two sanctuaries in the UK, one here in Wales, and one in the Hebrides. She had yet to ask about that, but it was on her list. And if it was true that there were dragons in her kingdom… well, at least they were being well managed.

And apparently there would be a dragon keeper in residence, and that might be an interesting conversation to have. And of course three of the intimates of the household had managed to best one in that silly and deadly competition that the inept and disgraceful headmaster held several years ago.

And then movement caught her eye, again. One of the paperweights on Mr. Krum’s desk came alive, circled around, hopped out of what was apparently a little nest, and hissed fire at them.

“Oh my. Have we disturbed it?” Elizabeth asked, gesturing slightly to indicate the miniature dragon. Was it alive? Was it some charmed statue? Was it a desk guardian?

Mr. Potter laughed. “No, it’s fine. It won’t go anywhere. I’ll probably go back to sleep in just a moment. Yep, there we go. They’re not as energetic as they once were.”

And then as they came back down to the ground floor, Mr. Potter explained why each one of them had a miniature dragon keepsake.

The standing stones were, in fact, standing stones. In excellent condition compared to some she had seen. Really, she was most fascinated by the Seat stone. A bit better condition than the Stone of Scone, but unlike that one, this one clearly had a place for Excalibur to rest in the back.

Elizabeth pulled off her right glove and reached out to touch the stone, the sword-shaped slit in the back. She felt nothing, of course, except the weight of history. It was, in many ways, just a stone. Granite, possibly, from the look of it, and that would have been quite difficult to carve and quite difficult to carry, then again, that was the rub of all standing stones. And possibly magic made that easier.

The moment passed and the glove was back on. They exited the Curtain once again and passed by granaries and root cellars that were all presently empty, as no farming had been done in some time, though planting would renew in the spring. Mr. Potter briefly and passionately explained the composting nature of the septic system in place which was, Elizabeth supposed, better than letting waste be wasted. The stables and barns were all empty as well, though this was clearly a place that would benefit from horses and dogs. The preserve was not overly large, but it was a tidy size and there were undoubtedly trails to be discovered in the forest.

Finally they came to the bit of Roman magnificence that took pride of place in the enclosure. The most finely preserved Roman ruin that was, in fact, not in a state of ruination, anywhere in the world. Except the mist was gone. She knew it would be, but it looked quite different and to be honest, much more  _ Roman  _ with the dramatic scarlet curtains all the way around, rather than the grey mist that had been just a bit creepy.

Elizabeth remembered the last time she went through, the last time Mr. Potter was explaining how walking through the mist worked, and how possibly it only worked for the fully-magical, taking you to whichever part of the structure you wanted to be in next. Otherwise, and she supposed, now, for hallways there were none, and one would just have to walk through other rooms. There was a covered walkway about a yard wide around the outside, between the columns and the mist, and there was a similar one on the inside. They had toured through drawing rooms and music rooms all with the sort of classical Roman furniture one found in drawings in historical texts, but Elizabeth had been slightly disconcerted in a way she wasn’t now.

_ There had been no walls.  _

She had no idea how she had come to count on them. Wallpaper. Color. Wainscoating. Paintings. Artwork. Decoration. Some artwork did hang from the ceiling just before the mist, as if against a wall, but all the ‘walls’ were a uniform misty white, as if they were trapped in a dreamstate involving Roman ruins and a fog bank. No, the red curtains were much better.

The ceilings though, contained perfectly preserved priceless frescos, she was sure, and each one seemed to make clear the purpose of the room. One for plays. One for recitation. One for listening to the harp. One for listening to a small chamber ensemble. One for gaming involving dice. One for gaming involving cards.

Elizabeth was glad, in a way, that she had been able to experience the whole structure as it had been for a thousand years, before the necessary alterations had taken place.

And when they had moved on to the rooms on each side of the structure, she had been prepared. Elizabeth had heard of these rooms at length, of course. Hermione referred to them as the orgy rooms and the snoozy rooms, respectively. As they toured the rooms a second time for herself but for the first time for Charles and of course Pembroke, Elizabeth remembered what it had been like the first time, when the compulsion spells were still in full effect.

It was a bit like being struck in a snowball fight, really; sudden, a bit shocking, and highly emotional. 

Passion, however, was just one more physical emotion she could crush when necessary.

The oversized fainting couch was predominant, but then, it would be. Small tables scattered around, a few chairs and couches. The ceiling fresco was indeed detailed with lascivious satyrs cavorting with nubile nymphs and for a mercy, the paintings did not move. They had quickly moved on to a room that was in essence similar, except for the deep desire to yawn, the presence of more couches and fewer chairs, and the fresco itself which more closely resembled Sleeping Beauty’s castle, with everyone slumped over in magical sleep just where they had been working.

Elizabeth had never at the time been quite so relieved to approach a vomitorium and communal toilet. 

As it was now, they were just fine ancient rooms with fine ancient ceiling murals and quite striking red walls draped in fabric.

As they walked through to the vomitorium and the beginning of the Bath portion of the building, Mr. Potter explained the changes that Hermione had made to make the toilets less communal and more of a changing space as well for the ease of guests who wished to use the Roman Bath. Everyone had a peek inside an empty ‘stall’ which was demarked by yards and yards of hovering fabric, and silencing spells, and it was just as she had seen in previous ruins, except of course this one was utterly pristine, and full of running water. There were even sticks with sponges on the ends, in the lower gutter. One hoped magic kept them clean. However toilet paper was clearly visible as well, obviously a modern addition, but one that was undoubtedly appreciated.

The next room was the cold bath and it was lined with stone benches with big piles of fluffy white towels periodically placed.

“All the guests of the Curtain are invited to use the Roman Bath whenever you like. If you need swimwear or a bathrobe, just talk with the elf assigned to you and they’ll work something out for you.”

The room after the cold bath was, predictably the hot bath, and there were a few bathers, though no introductions were made. Mr. Potter showed them the amenities, including the heated reclined stone beds, and the beds for massage, the listing of elves who were capable of massage and when each was on duty to be called. Elizabeth noted that the Roman Bath was truly always open, and there were on call massage elves well past midnight. Well, if she couldn’t sleep, that would certainly be an option, and it would very likely warm her up.

The steam room was pointed out to them, but they all declined a visit at present. The hot bath room was warm enough for present company.

The tour was concluded with tea in the Green Salon, where the master of ceremonies would meet with them. Charles and Pembroke chatted good naturedly with Mr. Potter, allowing Elizabeth to keep her peace, wondering about many things as she gazed out one of the ground floor windows that looked out onto the Roman structure. 

She found herself staring at one of the columns. Doric, if she remembered her architecture. And in the style of the facis, but instead of an axe, a short sword.

Excalibur, most likely.

* * *

_ Well,  _ Elizabeth thought to herself.  _ That went off nicely.  _

She sat quietly, feet flat on the ground and hands resting one on each thigh, palm down. She never sat with her ankles crossed when she was wearing regalia. It didn’t do to look too much like a lady and not enough like a monarch. It was a fine line, but one she’d been toeing for some time.

All things to discuss, eventually, with Hermione. Later. There was time.

Probably.

She shifted some of her attention to the large, magical monitor and watched with veiled interest at what was going on in the standing stones. This, of course, was the  _ other  _ part of the ritual. She knew about it in a general sense, and Elizabeth looked forward to future correspondence when Hermione herself had discovered more about the process and its effects. 

The siren song was certainly nothing for which she could have prepared. It was entirely enchanting and it was quite difficult indeed to keep her head about her, but Elizabeth practiced her deep breathing exercises and catalogued the physical sensations. The weight of her cloak. The coldness of her feet. The feel of the chair beneath her. These three things she focused on and allowed a smaller portion of her attention to register what was happening in the standing stones, what Gelwyn, Chief of the Love, was singing.

Instructions, at present. The prelude had been a hymn to peace and concord (oh, how apt!), and now the formidable leader of the fish people was officiating the bloodletting portion of the afternoon as the sun began to set.

Elizabeth watched as they all, two by two, sat. Finally, the Fourth Tent Pegs sat and a wave of goosepimples washed over her and the extremely strong urge to laugh, which naturally she squelched just as easily as any other parts of the emotional rollercoster she’d known here at Cair Paravel. She sat, with a quietly neutral face, as all around her succumbed to the laughter and the joy. Finally, Elizabeth allowed herself a small smile, even as her heart was bursting with the feeling of it. And in that moment, she knew a peace she had not known since her father died.


	49. Chapter 41: Wherein certain specific things occur, repeatedly.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens in Wales, stays in Wales.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: So, I'm sharing this with my best friend, who lives on the other side of the state from me, and I'm doing it four double-sided sheets through the US Mail at a time, accompanied with a letter, minimum once a week. (estimated finish date for sending it this way: late 2023) This works well for her, with the number of hours she has to work and the amount of additional screen time she doesn't want. She's not one for fanfic, but she loves HP, and she brings a non-Hermione/Viktor ship viewpoint and some reality checks that are quite useful. Unfortunately, she's reality checking chapters 1-4 for me at the moment. So, brand new continuity errors have been brought to my attention. I humbly apologize. One day I'll go back and do a massive edit.

The wedding was beautiful, small, and quick - and he’d gotten a picture! The coronation was stunning, large, and also fairly quick - and he’d gotten a picture, for that too! Right then when she was just standing alone on the steps, and then again afterwards when they were all on the steps! And it was all just a little overwhelming, but he also couldn’t wait to share it all with his Mum when he got home.

But the party afterwards! Cripes! It was  _ super  _ swank, filled with ambassadors and presidents and prime ministers, but as far as Dudley could tell, which maybe was not so very far, just local royalty.

The finger food was plentiful, the fireworks were brilliant, and the wine was apparently all from the Malfoy vineyards. Dudley took it easy - wine glasses went faster and hit harder than pints of stout. Still, he mingled and talked to some of the people he’d already met, but he also had an opportunity to go and talk to some centaurs and mermaids and he was  _ not  _ losing out on that once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, no sir.

It was awkward, sure, but also kind of awesome. He decided to approach one of the younger-looking centaurs who was also drinking a glass of red wine. The conversation was rocky at first. Dudley introduced himself. The centaur remarked on the night sky. Dudley offered his hand to shake. The centaur took a drink of wine. But they sorted themselves out eventually and after a bit Dorentio the young centaur took him to meet Calpurnia his older sister, who was talking with Carys, a young  _ (and bloody scary)  _ looking mermaid. At that point Dudley just put his earplugs back in because the two centaurs could actually speak the language of soft shrieking, which put his desire to learn French in perspective, really. If centaurs could learn mermish, he could learn French, no problem.

Of course, their accent was terrible, that was obvious with the earplugs in, and so that gave him hope, too. Apparently centaurs couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket. But after a while of speaking with them, it just sort of seemed normal to speak in a bit of a sing-song voice which made his new mermaid friend smile at his attempt.

And her smile was bloody frightening. But it was probably a good thing, right?

At some point in the night they’d all decided to go and hang out in the Roman Bath and they all teased him because he had to run back up stairs and change into his swim trunks, but it was past midnight now, and the party was showing absolutely no signs of stopping, so in no time Dudley was back downstairs, thongs on his feet, bermuda short-style swim trunks on, topped with his new ‘I WAS THERE’ shirt. Bit nippy from the door of the castle to the Roman building whose name he couldn’t recall, but it was a short walk, really.

And then he was back, and he hadn’t spilled his wine, and he had remembered to bring both the lanyard full of tags  _ and  _ his camera, thank you, and he was feeling very fine indeed.

There was a bit of a todo when everyone realized that Carys wouldn’t be able to get into the water, because she’d have to abandon her floating bubble of lake water to do it - not a problem in and of itself - but that she did not have the ability to create such a bubble again. It was a specialized skill, apparently, and some of the mermaids could do it, and certain elves. But she didn’t know the names of the elves who could.

It was decided, generally, that since she could breathe above water, one of them would carry her back to the lake, or possibly all of them taking turns would do it.

And then there was fun again, and general teasing about the specialized water-wear that humans tended to use, and Dudley was peppered with questions about how non-magical humans could possibly survive through a hard winter without magic of any kind.

There were a few others in the Roman Bath for the first hour or so, but their party was generally ignored and that was just as well.

Dudley had practice carrying Carys, as he did so several times between the hot pool and the cold pool. Carys would pull herself up and sit on the side, and then he would carry her in front of him - and  _ dear God in Heaven for a beautiful and terrifying fish woman she weighed a huge amount -  _ but the wine flowed and the nibbles were abundant, even in the Roman Bath, and they were all wonderfully drunk by two in the morning, at which point they were the only ones left in the Roman Bath.

They talked for hours and hours, this new quartet of friends, both before and after Dudley had changed, and their conversation ranged from the stars and the sea and love and culture and hopes and dreams and it was the best bloody night of drinking with mates Dudley had ever, ever had.

And it ended with a snog. Several, actually.

It all happened, though Dudley would just barely remember, and only eventually, because they had been talking about love and mates and how it worked in each culture, and when Dudley explained how it took humans a while, usually, and how he wouldn’t expect to find the right person any time soon, though of course he could, but that if he got married right out of uni in another two and a half years, that would be a little soon, maybe, but another ten or fifteen years and he wouldn’t worry in the least.

And by that point they had already gotten some pictures taken - fun times, fun times - and both centaurs knew how to use his camera.

It was one of the pictures that had set it all off, really. Dudley was sitting on the edge of the hot pool, next to Carys and helping her to sit upright with an arm around her, as sitting up was apparently hard for mermaids (he was learning so much!), and so Calpurnia decided to go around the other side of the pool and take a picture of them, but that was when Carys wondered what it was like to kiss a human, and that was when Dudley had said if she promised not to bite him, he’d be happy to show her, and her grin was just as scary as it always was, but she did promise, and she did it with the loveliest voice singing the loveliest song he’d ever heard, so he trusted her.

And then Dudley Dursley kissed a mermaid, and it was pretty awesome. As first kisses go it was, perhaps,  _ chaste _ but brilliant.

When she complained afterwards that it wasn’t that exciting, he pointed out that as you got to know a person, the kiss could go deeper. Tongues-in-mouths kind of thing. Kissing other bits of skin besides the lips. Stuff. (Sex, also, not that he was going to suggest it, and not, thanks to all the wine he’d drunk, that he was particularly hard just then, which by all rights he really ought to have been, kissing a beautiful if terrifying girl.)

And so they talked more and they were all quite bold now, and Dudley was  _ rather  _ curious how mermaids actually did have sex, (because how? And  _ how?)  _ and then he  _ found out  _ and that was another degree of fascination to his day he hadn’t planned on.

And then Carys asked for a deeper kiss, and Dudley pointed out that her teeth were  _ really  _ sharp and she swore she wouldn’t bite him, and so he did kiss her again. Tentatively. With tongue. Keeping said tongue far away from said teeth. And there was a bit of friendly touching, you know. As one does.

And happily for the aid of his memory, there were three pictures of this particular snog, none of which he would  _ ever  _ show his mother, considering that in the last one she had her hand down his trunks.

And then Calpurnia pointed out she was rather curious about what it was like to kiss a human, and so then it happened all over again, except they were all in the water again (camera away), and this time Carys was offering helpful commentary in her sinfully wonderful singing voice and it was really hard  _ not  _ to put his hands on Calpurnia’s breast when Carys told him to, especially when she snuggled up behind him and kissed the back of his neck. And it was quite easy, all things considered, when Carys had her arms around his waist and both hands in his pants, her lips at his neck, when she urged him to kiss her deeper, longer, harder, that he did so, groaning. And despite all the wine, he was, in fact, managing to get quite hard which seemed to amuse Carys no end. She was providing running commentary, so he knew how much she was enjoying herself.

Then Dorentio was complaining about being left out and also wanting to know what it was like to kiss a human, and Dudley was drunk enough and horny enough really not to give a damn who he was kissing and so he reached for the centaur and snogged him silly with both the girls kissing his neck and shoulders and driving him absolutely nuts with their hands as well as their lips and their songs and their throaty giggles.

And if anything at all happened after that, if they all stopped and laughed, or went a good deal farther before making sure Carys got home safely, Dudley remembered not a single thing when he woke up in his bed with Luke Skywaler perched on his nose (ouch), hooting at him. 

Only the pictures developed in the days to follow brought back hazy recollections of anything more than chatting with new friends, and even then there came a point when the haze obscured the recollections entirely.

* * *

Her Majesty had retired early and said quite clearly that she should enjoy herself as much as possible, and that she wouldn’t be needed until nine thirty the next morning. Rietta had thanked her boss, but truly not intended to stay up terribly late, herself. Crowds were never daunting when she was there for business, but when it was just herself? On her own behalf? Wearing a rather conservative dark blue suit and sensible heels? It’s not like she had any desire to hobnob with ambassadors, and they had no desire to hobnob with her. She was quite clearly neither important, nor a witch.

Miss Henrietta Pembroke was also well beyond her most beautiful years, and she was well acquainted with the fact. Her job was more than full-time, and didn’t really allow for attachments to form. With no time for husband nor children, nor pets of any sort beyond the cat who very likely thought the flat was actually hers, and that the food magically appeared once a week, Reitta, as her friends called her, was also not exactly the sort to hunt for a one-night-stand.

She was entirely too old for such highjinx.

But another glass of wine, at least. And mingling a bit with the people she did recognize, which ended up going rather well. Everyone was really quite friendly this evening, and three glasses in it seemed pretty likely that the gorgeous little ginger heartthrob who manhandled dragons for a living was looking at her as a man looks at a woman when he’s determined to get right down to it and lay pipe.

And why not? Whether or not he had any condoms, he looked worth the risk, and she was already in early menopause.

Rietta wasn’t at all worried if he’d be a good lay or not. He was pretty to look at, and that counted for a lot to her. He was a grade-A genuine heartthrob, this one, a little short - not much taller than Reitta herself, really - but broad and very obviously heavily muscled. And his face? Oh! Better than most movie stars nowadays. And if she couldn’t quite manage an orgasm during sex then at least when he felt asleep she’d get to just stare at him while she finished the job. No, the only question in her mind was if she would need just one more glass of wine in order to get naked in front of the young stud.

She was forty-seven. He looked barely old enough to need to pay income tax, though he was clearly an adult with a job. She would  _ definitely _ need another glass of wine, but then she was absolutely saying to hell with inhibitions, especially if he kept giving her those searing looks and lightly touching her arm, her shoulder, her back, just briefly when he wanted to make a point.

He was making a point, alright.

She was nearly through her glass of wine when he leaned in and spoke quietly in her ear. “So, Reitta. Are you interested in taking this conversation somewhere a bit quieter?”

Reitta bit back her gut reply, and then gave herself permission to say it after all, shifting her stance and leaning into his ear to breathe it out quietly for his consumption alone.

“Please don’t tell me you plan on talking to me all night. I was hoping you’d be rogering me senseless rather soon.”

The stud threw his head back and laughed and then offered her his arm and they strolled casually along, out the front of Concordia and then around and eventually back to the castle keep, sipping wine and continuing to chat about why Reitta never married and couldn’t be bothered to maintain a boyfriend.

“When is there time? My schedule is dependent on hers. I travel with her. Sure, for the holidays I usually have a bit of time to myself, though obviously not this holiday, well, except for now, I suppose, and it’s true I do have quite a bit of the summer free, mostly, but then it’s back to sixteen hour days, six days a week. I’m not complaining, mind. I love my position, and I love  _ her.  _ So I suppose I could date on Sundays, Christmas, and in July.”

Charlie the beautiful boy laughed. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Reitta’s eyes cut to his laughing, lovely face and she wondered about the status of her first-ever one-night stand. Which if she was lucky might be a two-night stand. Or possibly some sort of Christmas and summer set up with the ginger stud - and could it possibly be that she had found a man who would not only tolerate but  _ prefer  _ her schedule? No. No, that was silly. He was just a young, beautiful man who wanted a solid tumble and she really shouldn’t be getting her hopes up.

“I always come back for two weeks in the winter. I get another two weeks, but I usually travel. Ever been to Romania? It’s quite beautiful in July, you know.”

“Hmm,” she said, demurring for now, but smiling. And reminding herself that he was just a beautiful young man who wanted a solid tumble. “And how is it, Mister Charles Weasley, how can it possibly be that there is no girlfriend in the background who for some reason couldn’t attend the biggest party your world has seen in a century? Or is there one and you’re just being a  _ very  _ bad boy?”

He laughed again, and really, Reitta really  _ couldn’t  _ wait to get the boy behind closed doors. He was  _ scrumptious.  _

“I work, I eat, I sleep, I read. My life is boring and I don’t go anywhere, I don’t meet anyone. My mother despairs of me, but happily she has five other children to give her grandbabies.”

“Well, she’s not getting any out of me,” Reitta snorted, and the stud agreed that wouldn’t be ideal.

“My older brother just got married and my baby sister just eloped. I’m certain I’ll be an uncle by this time next year. I’m not worried in the least.”

“That certainly does give you a bit of freedom,” Reitta said with a smile as they took the shallow stairs of the grand staircase.

“Doesn’t it, just?” he asked with a grin and after that they were quiet. Up another flight of stairs and around to the other side of the castle than her room was, they approached the door with his name written neatly on the nameplate. He rested for a moment with his hand on the door handle. He looked over to her with an eyebrow raised. “Still up for it?”

Reitta smirked. “Rather.”

There was no awkwardness when they got into his room for the rather expedient reason that the moment the door was shut she reached for him and he kissed her breathless, pressing her up against the door. He tasted of red wine and berries. When they parted, Reitta rested her head against the door, gasping and wondering if this was the best idea she’d ever had in her life, or the worst because - and let’s be honest here - he was a firm, supple, muscular youth and most of her bits started to sag more than a decade before and were now in full-tilt sag mode. Everything about her said serviceable efficiency, not hot sexy mama, but he was kissing her neck and then sucking on it and it made Reitta forget about how she saw herself.

Clothes were removed in a rather haphazard manner that normally she would not stand for and discarded in a manner she didn’t bother thinking of and Reitta was rather vigorously tumbled, literally and figuratively, well into the night. She didn’t reach her own orgasm at first, but really, he was just a delightful little stud, so strong and beautiful and she knew that he’d fall asleep and she’d finish up and then have a bit of a cuddle perhaps, and then return to her room across the castle.

Except he didn’t fall asleep.

And when he started to move over her again, her arms and legs still holding him, he murmured his apologies and pointed out it had been a while for him and promised to do better on round two.

And he did. 

Five positions and two,  _ two orgasms for her later,  _ he had just finished eating her out and he still hadn’t come again and once she had caught her breath he urged her on her hands and knees and apologized that he was fairly ready to burst.

He called her sexy. He called her beautiful. He heaped on praise and obscenity that made her nearly purr as he pounded into her and then he did burst, and they did cuddle, and when she made to quietly leave, he caught her hand and pulled her back, urging her to stay, and calling her beautiful, and a hardened part of Reitta’s heart softened, which annoyed her greatly and she hid the tears that soaked into the pillow as he held her from behind. Still. She stayed. And they slept. And he woke her at dawn for rounds three and four and she did not at all flinch when, an hour later, he sat across from her at breakfast, giving her a cheeky grin as the magical queen opened gifts and ate croissants.

* * *

It was, perhaps, a little devious. Certainly it was something she would never, ever admit to her father who had once cautioned her against such hopes. But she and her dear friend had always wondered, for  _ years  _ now… what would sex with a human be like?

Oh, there were prohibitions against it. Humans could turn into terrible monsters, and everyone knew that. Even the nice ones take advantage, if you give them advantage to take. And there was very little opportunity, given where they were raised. Oh, in  _ proximity _ to humans, but all children and not eligible for experimentation.

But everything was changing, now, Calpurnia thought, and Carys quite agreed. And it wouldn’t do to endanger the agreements with the Pendragons, no, no, no, their parents would murder them outright, but this grand party… This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Now, all they had to do was find a likely candidate, preferably male but female would do in a pinch, get them drunk enough to be adventurous, and find somewhere quite private to see what would happen. Preferably not the lake, nor the forest.

They’d enlisted Calpurnia’s little brother who was a rather adventurous thing and who hadn’t yet chosen a mate. He had been courting someone, but she and her family had decided to stay, so now he was reconsidering his options and might have to wait for some time, as Calpurnia had decided to do, no one stallion of the herd being quite to her liking yet.

And then Dorentio brought over a friendly, sturdy, and likely looking specimen and she and Carys were  _ very  _ pleased to meet him, indeed. He was a bit awkward and his manners were not exactly the sort that any of them were used to, but once they got talking he was quite pleasant to be with and Calpurnia found herself falling a little bit in love with this adorable and handsome little human who had no magic whatsoever. She could tell that Carys was not unaffected and once the Roman Bath was suggested she knew it was just a matter of time before they both got their wish. They would never be able to take their beautiful little human lover as a mate - a ludicrous notion, they all recognized that, and magic prohibited their having children of any kind - oh, but they could have tonight, and they would ride the current of the evening like a leaf on a breeze. All they would need to do was keep talking, keep flirting, and see if he was amenable.

And it seemed that he was.

Carys, that lucky fish, had him hauling her back and forth between the pools, which, alright. It wasn’t as if she would just roll herself there. Possible in a pinch, but so undignified. Still, one end of each pool was sloped, which was how she and Dorentio could so easily emerge, and of course they could have easily carried her. But then she wouldn’t be in the arms of her would-be lover.

And then she ‘couldn’t sit up without help.’ Oh, please. She was supple and strong, but it was a nice excuse for him to hold her close with an arm around her.

And then that beautiful and wiley fish made her move. His consent was clear, though he had admirable concern for her teeth, but Carys would never hurt a lover. When she complained about the kiss, Calpurnia’s heart dropped, worried that this was Carys’ way of calling off the whole thing, but conversation continued on before Calpurnia could challenge him to a kiss and see if he could do any better with her - she was certain he could as he wouldn’t be worrying about her teeth, as they were mostly flat like his - but then they were kissing again and Carys looked to be enjoying it much more which made Calpurnia grin and take a few priceless photographs to memorialize the moment, for their human lover to remember them by - that was how he had described the function of photography, and so this seemed an apt moment he would appreciate being recorded for posterity. She would have preferred, perhaps, the moment when he was rutting inside of them, but it was best not to leave these things to chance, and the water obscured what was within it.

As kissing continued and talk of the mechanics of sex became more explicit, Calpurnia and Dorentio were quite vigilant in staying away from each other, or at least having a buffer of someone else between them. Some taboos were there for good reason. But it was disappointing, because while their human friend’s cock was a little too large for Carys, though the fish seemed to manage just fine and reached her pleasure each time he was in her, he was woefully small for Calpurnia, who could barely feel  _ anything _ , at least, not until he shoved his whole arm in her, which was, as with Carys, just a touch too wide and thus absolutely delicious.

Dorentio, not at all ignored, braved the pleasure of the mouth of a merwoman and Carys was on her very best behavior and so all went quite well, and if Calpurnia rubbed her flank up against her brother’s while she was getting fisted and he was getting kissed by the human and Carys at the same time but in rather different ways… well, who was to know? It was just a bit of flank rubbing. Just some friendly affection. It didn’t make them  _ lovers. _

Oh, but time and time again, every time the human was hard again, he went back to Carys and lost himself inside of her, which made sense, given their location. They weren’t quite on the right lines for  _ them,  _ but their human lover was finding his stamina increased by riding the human line, even if he couldn’t feel it, which apparently he couldn’t.

They could all feel it, when the sun rose, though they could not see it from within the building, and that was when Carys allowed him to rut with her one last time and they all kissed each other and then Dorentio called to an elf he knew, who got the right elf for their lover who promised to take him back to his room and tuck him into his bed.

Calpurnia and Dorentio galloped across the meadow and back to the lake with Carys clinging to Calpurnia’s back, as they had done a time or two before. When Calpurnia was fetlock deep, Carys slid off her back and they bid their friend and their adventure a fond farewell. It was sadly time to go be responsible young adults again, but at least they’d had their fun, and they would never forget their beautiful human lover.

* * *

Narcissa was stronger than this urge.

She took deep breaths and steeled herself against it.

She would not go to his room.

She would  _ not. _

For her sake and for his,  _ she would not go to his room. _

She got out of bed, meaning to get a phial of dreamless sleep and in a moment of absent mindedness found her feet taking her to the suite’s outer door, her hand upon the handle, which she jerked back, as if it were cursed.

_ She would not go to his room.  _

Narcissa found the phial and took it back to her bed, not even bothering with all the reasons why she shouldn’t go to his room. Those passed by as immaterial hours ago, though in the bright light of day they might become important again. It was now a matter of principle.

_ She would not go to his room.  _

She tossed back the contents and put the empty glass on her bedside table, laying back and allowing herself the scant moments before the potion’s effects kicked in to let her mind wander back to the reception after all her own duties to Hermione were complete, how he had sought her out.

His impish smile.

His kind heart.

His beautiful eyes.

Everything had changed.

_ Nothing had changed. _

* * *

“Oh for the love of  _ Merlin.” _

Minerva was not having the best of nights.

Oh, the wedding went off beautifully. The priest did his portion - Michael Fielding, Ravenclaw, 1969, a good boy to be certain, and apparently he turned out well, nice to see, nice to see - and the young couple looked just absolutely radiant of course. It was an honor to officiate. The coronation was stunning. Really, quite stunning. The reception afterwards was brilliant and joyful and all things good.

And then the reports started coming in from Aurora. The children who were still in their care - which is to say the ones whose parents were not able to secure family tickets and who yet wished to attend - were all  _ feeling their bones  _ tonight.

Each house, one by one, had needed to go into total lockdown because some of the fourth years and all of the upper classes were apparently all attempting to shag anything that moved. Each head of house had been propositioned no fewer than four times, and that included poor Filius.

Minerva sighed. She could feel it too. Oh, it wasn’t such a strong urge at her age, but if her husband had still been alive, bless him, she might have kept him up past his bedtime. She saved a sweet thought for the dear man and sent back a patronus.

_ “Aurora, resist the urge to give detention to two thirds of the children. It’s the ritual on the ley lines. We’re all feeling it, I suppose. Maintain lockdown, cast contraceptive charms, and suggest masturbation to the older ones. Get Poppy to visit each house before breakfast tomorrow with morning after potions.” _

Minerva sighed again, her eyes still not quite focusing on her book, a frivolous piece of fluff on the Norse gods. 

Pureblood fertility rates had been down in the last two hundred years. Even for those who waited until marriage, the assurance of a male heir often trumped the wish for fecundity. And Minerva wondered. Well, she wondered if that was about to change on a small scale, or perhaps on a rather larger one.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before I wrote this, I wondered to myself... 'should I go there?' And my muse said, 'of course you should.'


	50. Chapter 42: Wherein there are a few rituals.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Author is actual ritualist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are deep into the chapters that I wrote back in January and to which I have been working, lo these many months, to catch up. And now we're here. Welcome!

“Who gives this child Hermione in marriage?” Minerva quietly asked, standing just to one side of the Seat stone at the head of the crowd around the stones. Only two figures stood within the circle, each robed in white, facing each other, standing on the ley line between the Seat stone and its opposite standing stone, and only one within the Curtain sat - an old, elegant lady in a crown and quite a fancy fur-lined cape.

“We, her parents, give this child Hermione in marriage.”

“Do you certify and promise she has not been given nor taken in marriage before?”

“We do.”

“Who gives this child Viktor in marriage?” Minerva asked, following the simple ritual, holding only a long length of white grosgrain in her hands.

“We, his parents, give this child Viktor in marriage.”

“Do you certify and promise he has not been given nor taken in marriage before?”

“We do.”

“Who witnesses this marriage between these children, Hermione and Viktor?”

“ _ We do!”  _ all assembled cried out with strength. Only the merfolk whispered.

“Hermione, child, do you come to this marriage without encumbrance and of your own free will?”

“I do,” said the barefoot woman in white wearing a crown of fragrant white roses with an ancient sword strapped to her hips.

“Viktor, child, do you come to this marriage without encumbrance and of your own free will?”

“I do,” said the barefoot man in white wearing a crown of fragrant white roses, unarmed.

“Hermione, child, do you take Viktor to be your husband for a year and a day?”

“Nay, ma’am.”

“For the duration of your mortal life?”

“Nay, ma’am.”

“Until such time as your souls be rent asunder one from the other?”

“Aye, ma’am, until our souls be rent asunder.”

“Viktor, child, do you take Hermione to be your wife on her terms?"

“Aye, ma’am, until our souls be rent asunder.”

“So mote it be. Come and have your hands bound fast. Clip the ribbon you may, break the knot you will not.”

They both walked toward her, walking the weak but discernible invisible line of magic and life and then stood side by side, he on the left, she on the right, each with one foot still straddling the line. With fingers interlaced, Hermione’s left hand and Viktor’s right, backwards in some respects, to tradition, Minerva wrapped their wrists and hands around and around, and then tied a tight knot. Then she stepped aside and a middle aged man briefly took her place.

“Kneel down before your God,” he bid them, and they did so, hands bound together. He leaned over the low stone and placed a hand on each of their heads. “May your love only grow, may your union inspire others, and may you be open always to God’s will in your lives. I bless you in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.”

The middle aged man moved aside and the elderly woman took over again.

“You may seal your agreement with a kiss, and be not distracted by other things today, for you must consummate your agreement by midnight tonight.”

Still kneeling, the two kissed and most people cheered, though everyone applauded. No one had noticed the photographers discreetly documenting the ritual and no one objected to gathering around the happy couple for a photograph.

Someone broke out the champagne and the toast was to the life and health of Viktor and Hermione, Hermione and Viktor, and when it was time to cut the ribbon from their wrists, Viktor held it steady with his free hand and Hermione very carefully held Excalibur, Sword of Legend, unsheathed against the sturdy white grosgrain.

* * *

Viktor’s floral crown was gone as he sat in the front side facing row off to the right, replaced by a white gold circlet adorned with a moonstone over his third eye. The chair next to him was empty, but when Queen Elizabeth II sat down once more, it would be there she sat. He was still barefoot and for now there was a warming charm, and on Hermione’s feet as well, but he would cancel them before they got into the stone circle.

There were, perhaps, not quite ten thousand people in attendance, muggle, squib, witch and wizard, elf, merfolk, and centaur, and all of them were quite silent.

Both he and Hermione wore their matching white wedding clothes, but now over both of them were matching dragon cloaks lined in ermine. Both he and Hermione wore torcs around their necks, hers a thick yellow gold, his a thinner but still substantial white gold, both adorned with the same stones but hers perhaps a thousand years older.

Hermione wore her wand strapped to her waist on the other side of her sword until she pulled out the latter and handed it handle first, elegantly sinking to her knees in a move she had practiced many times with him, and with her friends. And so she had knelt in front of the old monarch and spoke clearly her vows of fealty, their voices amplified behind them and out of the enclosure, though from where Viktor sat, he could hear her voice perfectly well, strong and pure. 

Elizabeth recognized her service, her sacrifice, and her valor and proclaimed her the first of the Knights of the Order of Merlin.

Excalibur touched her shoulders one by one, and then the monarch returned the sword, hilt first, and it was sheathed in leather once more.

Elizabeth invoked God and proclaimed Hermione  _ Her Royal Majesty Queen Hermione, Regent of all Avalon.  _ She put an unadorned gold crown on her head, that regardless of its lack of diamonds, velvet, and fur, seemed still to have the weight of responsibility in it.

A chime sounded, and Viktor put the water plugs into his ears. 

Moments later, the merfolk choir began singing and it was so beautiful it almost brought tears to his eyes. They sang of peace, of home, of prosperity, of love. It was the second time they sang. The first was to beckon everyone to gather and be seated at the beginning of the brief ceremony, and it was like hearing the transcendent sirens of legend. Even Viktor, who had prior experience with their song, had been deeply moved. Never had a crowd of ten thousand so quickly and with such order assembled themselves, first scrambling to put their water earplugs in, and then quickly and efficiently finding their seat and letting the song settle deep in their bones.

As they sang for the second time, Hermione rose and turned around to face the crowd assembled, and Elizabeth removed herself from the center and resumed her seat next to him, her hands placed calmly in her lap.

Hermione stood alone in the center, on the lowest step of Concordia, and Viktor watched her eyes alone move as she tracked all the people around her and in front of her. She stood not with hands clasped, but with her arms to her side and slightly out, hands open, relaxed, and inviting, and with the fall of the sleeves, her inner forearms were clearly visible. She held herself very deliberately, he knew. With the repeater broadcast focusing in on her, the message she sent was as clear as the word etched on her arm, a healed scar, but still perfectly visible from a distance.

_ Here is your Queen, wizarding world, fearless and noble. As brave as the day is long, and stronger still, and blood purity is a myth you are invited to release. _

She was radiant.

In the third verse, Viktor stood up, his own circlet resting strangely on his forehead, and he stepped up to her as she stood. He wandlessly and wordlessly ended the warming charm on both of their feet and the fixing spell on her braids, and then removed her cape from her shoulders. The human master of ceremonies, Hermione’s parliamentarian tutor, stepped to him and took her cape, and then Viktor’s own, and Viktor offered Hermione his arm.

The merfolk choir still sang as first two elves - one tiny and elderly, one larger and younger - then two merfolk - their bubbles of water splitting off from the choir, but still singing - and then two centaurs, and then Hermione and Viktor walked and swam in a line around the steps of Concordia. They were followed discreetly by reporters and the videographers whose special cameras were connected to the rebroadcast, which now everyone would need to rely upon, even those present. 

All the way around Concordia, the right hand door of the Curtain stood open and inviting into the stones beyond and two by two they entered, first the elves, then the merfolk, then the centaurs, then the humans. The reporters followed and spread out around the stones, while the eight stood within. Torches on the inner walls of the curtain were lit and cast strange shadows around the stones and the people within, but there could never have been anything fearsome about it, not while the merfolk choir sang and entranced all who heard.

When the song ended, a new one began, only this time it was only the lone mermaid within the stones who sang, Gelwyn, Chief of the Love.

Her song bade the other seven to step this way, and remember that thing, and one by one the elves, then the merfolk, then the centaurs, then the humans met in the center of the circle to mingle their blood with their mate and return to their stone. And then two by two there was blood on the stones, first the elves, then the merfolk, then the centaurs, then the humans, and when it was Viktor and Hermione’s turn, he pressed his bloody arm to the stone even as Hermione’s blade, Excalibur, coated with both of their blood, came to rest with a loud  _ shiiiing  _ in the stone.

Two by two they sat in front of their stones, first the elves, then the merfolk in their fashion, then the centaurs, then Viktor sat on the ground before his as Hermione sat  _ on  _ hers.

And as she did, Gelwyn sang.

Viktor gasped.

The Centaurs laughed.

The Elves giggled.

Hermione exhaled, eyes wide.

Viktor shivered as the power ran through him, and still Gelwyn sang. She sang of trust. She sang of faith. She sang of things unseen but felt, things unknown but intuited. She sang of longing fulfilled, an end to waiting, an end to fear.

And Viktor  _ knew  _ as he sometimes did with blood magic, that this was not about Britain. This was about  _ everywhere. And he was somehow now tied in with everywhere. _

_ Everything Gelwyn sang about was going into the blood ritual, which was ongoing, still, for as long as the song lasted. _

Viktor, as self-aware as he was for a twenty-one year old, really didn’t have words for what was going on inside of him. Years later he would realize that Gelwyn’s blood magic had unlocked all the doors inside of his heart, his mind, and invited him to release all the negativity he could, urging him to sit naked in his own soul and know that what he truly was in his most inner self was something so pure and so beautiful that it would be silly of him not to imagine everyone else was the same.

And for the moment, the power running through him just let him gasping, aroused, and though he didn’t realize it, silently weeping, though he would notice the tears soon enough when the ritual ended.

And he would leave them on his smiling face, unashamed, as he escorted his beautiful wife at the end of the line out of the standing stones, back around Concordia, to stand with her on the steps with the other participants of the ritual to the acclaim of a crowd that was both laughing and crying while applauding. They stood before them, their cloaks once more over their shoulders, wandless warming charms on their bare feet, though the steps of Concordia were warm to the touch even in the cold of December.

The fireworks went off behind them, and they stood smiling and laughing and  _ so filled with joy _ that words could never adequately form the shape of what happened that day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I wrote this in January, I thought, 'Yeah. This is it. This is the end.' But of course, then I kept writing. So really, no. This is not the end. Yet.


	51. Chapter 43: Wherein there are presents.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is high time we saw the world from Luna's perspective.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof. First Sunday back from a two week vacation that was, in all subjective measures, the best my husband and I have ever had, and in other respects, by all objective measures, the absolute worst, and then there was the midnight wake up call of screaming pain, my own. (Hello, migraines, I thought we were done with this, yes?)
> 
> All this is to say... This chapter? This one here? I'm posting this as much for me as for you. Mm, maybe more so.

Luna watched with fascination, standing just to Hermione’s right, all three of her standard but personally augmented dictoquills all scribing discreetly around her. Ostensibly, this was to record what Hermione received so people could be properly thanked later. It would also help Luna’s interviews later on, however, and Hermione had accepted that.

The first dictoquill wrote what people said, but it would also annotate who said it, and from which position they were speaking. Was it Hermione, the queen who spoke? Or Hermione, the new bride? Was it Draco, the vintner or Draco, the grieving son? This was invaluable in understanding people’s motives, though it didn’t always make it into her articles. It did often keep her from misunderstanding others. Mostly she could see it herself, but every now and again the dictoquill would catch what she would miss, and that was always instructive, too.

The second dictoquill wrote what people meant, also annotated as the first. This one was charmed to write a great deal faster, just in order to keep up. People could think at light speed, and often much meaning was crammed into a simple, “Oh.”

The second dictoquill was, of course, quite sensitive and Luna was very careful not to abuse the position she had of being insightful. She never, for instance, wrote down what people  _ didn’t  _ say, for that would be unfair. If they weren’t willing to say it, why should she have an opportunity to publish it? No, quite unfair.

The third dictoquill gave a running analysis of the person’s metaphysical state, which naturally included how their emotions were interacting with their aura, not to mention any dreadful infestations or embeddiments, which was Luna’s personal word for something embedded which served as an impediment, though there was the odd and rare case of people being surrounded by light alone, with light pouring out from them. And if there were figures in the light being helpful, they could be only imagined by her, not truly seen.

Usually rare. There was only one Hogwarts student like that, aside from Luna herself. And she had met only three other people in her travels this past summer like that, illuminated, and they had all been muggle. An older married couple, and elsewhere, an athletic instructor. It had been wonderful to talk with them, and they hadn’t minded at all having a random conversation with a complete stranger on the nature of love. But they were rare, so rare.

Except for tonight.

_Tonight_ _everyone was illuminated._

It was fascinating, and Luna was so intensely curious to see how long it would last.

Tonight, too,  _ everyone was saying what they meant,  _ and that was also quite unusual.

The illumination had started with Hermione, when Elizabeth put the crown on her head. It was so beautiful, so radiant, but then it always was. Luna had been a little bit surprised, as she had privately wondered which way Hermione would go, given great power. But quite clearly Hermione had made the best choice, and Luna hoped that would continue.

But then Gelwyn began to sing, and the light started to grow in almost everyone, all at once. In general, when the merfolk sang, people had fewer embeddiments, Luna had noticed, but this was something on a different scale entirely. Luna almost didn’t hear what Gelwyn was saying because she was so  _ fascinated  _ by the changes in the thousands of folk all around her. Even the grindylows in the lake and the redcaps in the forest were being affected and were feeling uncharacteristically less murderous. When the ley lines finally shifted, it was like a dam bursting open and flooding an entire valley, but in a good way. It was instructive light, rather than destructive water.

Luna laughed and cried along with everyone around her because  _ it was just so beautiful! _

_ So this is concordia on a mass scale. I wonder how far beyond this event it has extended. I wonder how far it will extend. _

An hour later, it was still going strong. Luna stood just behind and to the side of Hermione as she sat next to Viktor on a stone bench in the courtyard of the newly christened Concordia. Neville was on the other side, working with a team of ten house elves running errands and accepting gifts as the dignitaries and honored guests were presented one by one to Hermione and Viktor, the master of ceremonies introducing each one, aided by Narcissa and Augusta.

There were one hundred and fifty groups of people in line, and the line was not moving very quickly. And yet, no one seemed to care. There was chatter and laughter and conversation in line and the Pendragon elves were carrying trays of food and drink to those in line, and removing it from the hands of the people who were nearly at the head of the line. Though it was, in many respects, extremely formal, there was also no false dignity, just kindness and mutual affection.

It was just the sort of party Luna enjoyed.

The Chinese delegation was presented first and they certainly set the tone for approaching Hermione and Viktor, though no one else did a full prostration on the ground, three times. It was really quite something. They gave her a proclamation and a comb of jade and gold that was meant to go in a topknot she did not currently have, but it was clear that though Hermione, the queen, received the gifts with pleasure, she had no idea what they meant when they presented her with  _ the _ Mandate of Heaven. Luna just smiled to herself. She’d figure it out soon enough.

The Australian delegation was next in line, and they presented her with four juvenile koalas and a small eucalyptus grove which was probably going to end up living here in the courtyard. They bowed quite graciously and exclaimed about how wonderful it was to be here, and to meet her, but there were no triple full prostrations, and no ancient Chinese ancestral crown, alas. Still, it was wonderful to see Hermione, the teenager, cuddle a not-yet-full grown koala and she was glad that her photographer was as dedicated as she was. That might be one to be framed.

The Cambodian delegation was next, and they presented her with a set of inlaid prayer rattles, which shimmered in the low light. Luna wondered if other people could see the silvery shimmer, or if it was just her.

Then the Mexican delegation, who presented Hermione and Viktor with a juvenile pair of quetzalcoatls, and Luna peered at them intensely. They were said to cause the world to spin, and keep spinning. Another competing theory said they were behind tornadoes, hurricanes, and cyclones, and of course they looked like a hybrid between a big cat and a feathered serpent. Luna wondered if they spoke Parseltongue. How utterly fascinating.

Then the Americans were next, and not to be outdone they had bought a pair of wampus kittens. At about eighteen inches long, they looked a little like lion cubs, but with six legs each. Luna watched as Hermione, the cat-lover’s heart melted at the sight of the kittens, and she immediately named the black one Midnight and the golden one Morning. Luna heard the special instructions Viktor quietly gave Neville as he took the kittens one at a time from Hermione, and they made her smile. She knew Viktor was partial to dogs - one look at Hermione’s patronus could make that clear - but everyone knew Hermione was a cat person. It was an interesting move, politically, however. It was the President of MACUSA who presented the cats, and said President had been notoriously against funding their sanctuaries. Luna privately wondered if this was her attempt to get a breeding pair out of the country. As sincere and happy as the delegation was now, they would be one to watch.

The Icelandic delegation brought Hermione eighteen crates of fish eggs in stasis, for the restocking of her lake.

The Peruvian delegation brought Hermione - of course - a clutch of dragon eggs. Arguably the most dangerous dragon in the world, the Vipertooth. Beautiful hide, though. Fulgin. Hermione, the polite daughter, was wonderfully gracious, and she mostly even meant her words of gratitude. Luna heard Neville’s instructions to the next house elf in line to get the cauldron of eggs into a hot fireplace somewhere and find Charlie Weasley and tell him where they were.

The Tibetan delegation brought a clutch of Chinese Fireball eggs, likewise the Norwegians a clutch of Ridgebacks, and the Romanians, who really should have known better, a clutch of the rare Welsh Drake, which given its tiny size might be the only one who didn’t get shipped off to a dragon sanctuary. Maybe.

Luna wondered if Hermione knew the rules of the sanctuaries. If you paid for the upkeep of the dragon which fell accidentally into your care, when it died they would cure the hide and send it back, with a portion of the bones and the blood if any remained, which were very, very pricey potions ingredients. She had had a long conversation with Hagrid ages ago, and apparently the school had agreed to pay on Hagrid’s behalf and when Norberta died, the bones and blood would go to the potions department, and Hagrid would get half of the skin, a single tooth, and a single claw, the other half skin becoming boots and gloves for various department heads.

Luna was interested to note that the Swedish delegation did not bring a clutch of Short Snouts. They brought her a glowing crystal the size of Luna’s forearm, set in gold, which shone as bright as the day, and which would, apparently, as long as the days were short. Tiny versions were common among Swedish wizardry to keep the depression of darkness at bay, and when she was ten, her father had gotten her one set as a pendant. She still had it, though she had to cover it at night in order to sleep.

The South Africans brought a small casket full of diamonds and the delegation from Zanzibar brought baby elephants.

Clearly part of the forest would need to have some significant environmental charms put on it. Or very possibly Hermione would need to start a zoo here or elsewhere.

The Bulgarian delegation pointed out that Hermione had already received the greatest gift they could give her, a comment which brought laughs from all around, despite the rampant objectification of Viktor it entailed, but they presented her with another, all the same. A case of attar of roses, which they were known for.

The Russian delegation gave a cerberus pup which promptly fell asleep in Viktor’s lap and stayed there for another ninety minutes. The Indian delegation brought Hermione three trunks full of silk fabrics, and the Mongolian delegation brought a small herd of horses as a gift. The New Zealanders brought five herds of deer to repopulate the woods and three flocks of merino sheep, of which only one of each was brought in and the sheep, in Luna’s opinion, looked remarkably clean. The Italian delegation brought an olive grove with them and were full of compliments concerning the Concordia in particular, and Hermione, the gracious hostess, gave them special permission to explore the entire structure that evening.

And so it went on and on. Monkeys from Japan and coffee plants from Java, a small vineyard of pinot (grigio and noir) vines from France, a trunk of chocolate from Belgium, a stunning set of mantel clocks from Switzerland, fourteen racing brooms from Germany which was known for them. And then there were prize beef cows from Argentina, the tropical birds from the Bahamas, a set of whistles from Brazil that enhanced the mood, and a set of pipes from Uruguay that induced catharsis. The Irish gave a kelpie and whether or not they did that with their tongues firmly in their cheeks was anyone’s guess. Not even Luna could tell with the Irish, but then, everyone had a blind spot.

As everyone took exactly two minutes to present, they were done in a little less than five hours. At two different intervals, a house elf had fed Hermione and Viktor a single bite at a time in between presentations. This gave Hermione and Viktor exactly thirty minutes to mingle as they wished to before they were due to retire with a firm deadline at 10:30 in the evening, to allow time for winding down before they possibly had to wind themselves back up again and consummate the marriage before midnight. The party, of course, might wind down around dawn, Luna thought, but her night was just beginning.

* * *

Breakfast was served starting at six in the morning, laid out in a buffet along a side table in the Great Hall of The Curtain. Still, Luna knew that Hermione would be down at eight in the morning, and so she waited until then to drift down, dictoquills in tow. The front door was open allowing the dim strains of the Fiddly-on-Stoke Philharmonic Orchestra to filter in from the stage half a mile away. They were playing Bolero, if she wasn’t mistaken, which meant things were about to get very interesting. Really, Ravel’s Bolero was an apt metaphor for life, in many ways. 

Luna made up a bowl of muesli and yogurt and began with that, though likely she would go back and see what tempted her after the initial hunger was gone. It had been a very long night. 

Viktor and Hermione came down not long after, two six-legged cubs and a three-headed puppy in tow, all with collars on though no leashes at present, and they were remarkably chipper for a couple who had a very long day and likely a much longer night afterwards. Still, Luna refused to look too deeply. They deserved their privacy. At least for today.

There were a pile of presents sitting at one end of the table, and some stacked on the floor and that end was obviously Hermione’s. Today’s would be people Hermione knew personally and somewhat closely. Tomorrow’s would be from any people Hermione knew only vaguely, or not at all. Luna was ready with her dictoquills, and as soon as Hermione had a plate of breakfast loveliness in front of her, five elves and a tea service arrived. Luna watched as Hermione took a long drink of tea and ate some toast before she took up the first envelope on the pile.

“Hmm. This one is from Queen Elizabeth the second,” she said, then she gasped. “She’s dedicated a box for the Pendragons at all Royal Shakespeare Company productions, anywhere they perform, in perpetuity. Eeeek! I only have to show the signet ring. The box will easily fit ten people. Ohmigodthisisawesome.”

That, Luna noted, was Hermione, the Shakespeare nerd. How fascinating. 

“Okay, also she says that the rest of her gift is on the occasion of our wedding, a sample included in the box, and that there is a crate with nintey-nine more, likely with the elves by now. Okay, oh my goodness. Right. Thank you Luna. Out loud, got it. Um, it seems to be a place setting of silverware, and the handles all have a dragon rampant on them. Hm. More forks than I know how to use, honestly,” said Hermione, Elizabeth’s mentee.

“This one is from Charles, Prince of Wales. Oh, he’s such a kind man. Right, anyway, he says the two boxes also represent larger crates they will have brought with them, so let me see here. Oh, goodness, what is…? Oh. My. Um, it seems to be an entire dinner service of china plate with my crest on. The new one, black field, crossed white roses, pot in hand, dragon rampant. And in this box… Oh, wow. Crystal goblets. Let’s see, water, white wine, red wine, champagne, and brandy, I think. And one I can’t identify.”

Hermione, the Hogwarts student, looked over at Luna, shell shock written all over her face. Perhaps some part of all this was beginning to sink in? Possibly not the best part, as Hermione’s glow began to momentarily dim, but then she ate a bit more and it brightened. She ate a bit more even still, drank some tea, and greeted Kingsley as he came in.

“This one is from the Potters. Its for me and Viktor. Oh, dear god in heaven. I think, yup. Viktor, this is a black dragon leather coat I’m sure you’ll look amazing in. Eeek! I have a Fireball coat. I like this so much it’s ridiculous. Am I getting shallow, Luna?” Hermione, the lover of pretty things, asked.

“No, dear,” Luna confirmed easily. Hermione was still radiant, inside and out.

“You are my fireball,” said Viktor, the lover, candidly and quite poetically, Luna thought. “I have known this for some time.”

Hermione grinned at him and ate some of her breakfast after handing off the gifts to the next elf in line to be put away.

“Okay, next from Charlie and Percy Weasley, oh my goodness, I think it’s dragon’s blood. Yup. It’s a vial of dragon’s blood. Wow. Thank you,” said Hermione, the potioneer.

“Next from ...Draco  _ and Luna?  _ Are we going in on presents with Draco, now?” Hermione, the nosey friend, asked in an amusingly rhetorical manner, because she obviously was. Luna just smiled. Draco walked in just then, wished his hostess a lovely morning and gave Luna the rather special smile she had come to know in the very early hours of the morning after partying all night, interviewing everyone she could and being on the receiving end of three non-penetrative orgasms.

It was quite a smile.

“It’s an index of wines. Not sure…”

“It’s a wine cellar. We decided you needed one,” Luna clarified.

Hermione was momentarily speechless. “Thank you,” Hermione, the sister, finally replied.

“I’m sure in time your own pinot will be excellent,” Draco, the vintner, added, “but it may be a few years before you get the environmental charms just right. It’ll have to be elf wine, here, because of the weather, but I would be happy to consult with your elves if you don’t have any viticulture experts among the group. Luna said you hadn’t, but Merlin only knows what you’ve gotten as gifts by now.”

“Merlin, and Luna,” Viktor, the smartarse, pointed out gamely, cutting his steak and taking a bit with some egg.

“Thank you, Luna. Thank you, Draco. That is incredibly thoughtful. I will check and get back to you,” Hermione, the sister, said. She handed the list to the next elf with instructions, and then ate some more of her breakfast and had more tea.

“Next from Ron, chocolates, I’m sure they’ll be delicious,” said Hermione, the betrayed best friend. “And from Molly and Arthur, oh my goodness, I think she made me one of those clocks, have you seen the clock she has at home, Luna?” asked Hermione, the enthusiastic academic. “That clock is a work of charmed art. Viktor, it tracks all of your loved ones and tells you roughly where they are. For the last year or so everyone just stayed in mortal peril. Oh, and there are instructions on how to bind each spoon to different people. Fascinating, fascinating. Tibby, put this in the workroom on the third floor, won’t you?”

Another pause for more breakfast, and a hello to Negash, his little sister Elsbet, and his parents, Dr. and Mrs. Berhe.

“Oh, this one’s from Mum and Dad,” said Hermione, the repentant daughter. “It’s a charm bracelet. It’s a muggle thing. They mentioned they might do this, as it might be more convenient sometimes to wear the locket around my wrist. It’s, oh, my, it’s heavy. Oh dear, I think they sprung for platinum. I might have to charm this weightless. Good grief. It already has three charms, well muggle charms, pendants, you know, on it, one is a sword, one is a crown with some diamonds in it, the other is a claddagh. Oh, it’s lovely.”

Another few bites, another pause, another greeting, this one to Ron and his plus one, Hannah Abbot.

“This one is from Hagrid. Oh, dear. I’m rather afraid to open it,” said Hermione, the cautious student. “Oh, dear the box has holes in. Please not a baby hippogriff, please not a baby hippogriff, please not a baby hippogriff. The card only says it took him ages to find it. It’s an egg. It’s a large egg. It’s a large unidentified egg. Oh, God. Tippy, do you know Hagrid, the keeper of keys at Hogwarts? Right. I need you to go, find him, with the rest of the Hogwarts contingent and get him to tell you exactly what kind of egg he gave me and then report back immediately.”

A deep breath. An entire other croissant. Two more eggs.

“Mmm, Viktor this is from your parents,” Hermione, the dutiful daughter-in-law, said. “Oh my. Well. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. It’s beautiful. Oh, right, yes. Um, sapphires. Earrings, a ring, a tennis bracelet. Why do they call them that, do you know? I’m so curious. Tims, these go on my dressing table.”

“One was lost during a tennis match, once,” Luna replied. “Can’t imagine why she was wearing it at the time, though. Rather silly. Rough game, tennis, at least at the professional level.”

“Huh,” Hermione, the pragmatist replied, getting up for another two croissants and some eggs.

“Okay, this one is from Narcissa,” said Hermione, the daughter. “Oh, what a beautiful stole. I think it might be pashmina. Ooh, a dress, oh how lovely. I wonder. Yup! Color at will,” Hermione said, putting the now blue stole and dress back in the box and handing it to the next elf with instructions.

A nibble, then she continued. “Hmm, this is from the Longbottoms. Oh, my goodness, I think it’s a shrunken down orchard. Let’s see, the card says peaches, apricots, nectarines, and dirigible pears. Gibby, later on talk to the head of farming, and Viktor and Neville about the possibility of planting these in the forest where both we and the centaurs can access them,” said Hermione, the estate-avoidant.

More breakfast, more tea. Tippy returned, hands wringing.

“Hagrid says it is a surprise for Mistress Pendragon. A good fun surprise.”

“Oh, God, that means it’s so dangerous it could kill us all,” said Hermione, the friend of Hagrid. “No, no, I’m not upset at you, Tippy. Minerva? Tippy, would you take Minerva to go see Hagrid once she’s finished with her breakfast? Thank you, dear.”

More tea. Much more tea.

“This one is from Granmere, heavens it’s heavy.” Hermione, the beloved granddaughter, laughed. “It’s a round of cheese. Oof. Down to the kitchens with this, but put a bit on a plate up here for the buffet, and bring me back a small wedge, would you?”

More breakfast. More hellos, these to Andromeda, Ted, and little Teddy as they came down. 

“This one is from Bill & Fleur, ooh, it’s a little statue of Bast,  _ oh my goodness it was from Tut-enkh-amen’s tomb. Fiffs, yes thank you for the cheese, put this very, very carefully on my desk on the third floor.”  _ Hermione took a deep breath and a draught of tea.

“This one is from George and to be entirely honest, I’m a bit afraid to open it,” said Hermione, the staid.

“Don’t be,” Luna encouraged her. “His pranks haven’t been over the top since Fred died.”

Hermione nodded somberly as more people trickled into breakfast. She hello’d Narcissa, Ms. Pembroke, and some of Viktor’s friends as well as her cousin from Harry’s side, Dudley.

She opened the box and smiled, but it was a bit of a sad smile, Luna thought. “It’s a case of single use packets of Peruvian Darkness Powder, and the card says it’s so we can escape any meeting or clutch of reporters that Viktor and I need to,” said Hermione, the friend of Fred.

A bite, some tea, and a pause to greet the Potters and thank them for the beautiful coats. Harry gave her a hug from behind and a kiss on the top of her head while Ginny fussed over Midnight in an adorable way, and brought him another piece of steak.

“This one is from the Tonks’,” said Hermione, the Black Scion. “Let’s see. Oh, how lovely. Thank you so much. It’s a beautiful watercolor of Gelwyn, Firenze, and Mory. Tibby, why don’t you hang that over the mantle of the center fireplace, won’t you? Here, Midnight. You finished your steak like a good boy. Now have a ribbon to play with. This is excellent cheese, Viktor. Would you like a bite?”

More breakfast, more tea.

“Hm, this one is from Cousin Dudley and Aunt Petunia,” said Hermione, defender of Harry Potter. “Oh, my, how lovely. Yes it’s a set of Waterford crystal. A large low bowl - Viktor, what do you think about this for a centerpiece on this table here, or on a side table, perhaps filled with concordias? And two three-branch crystal candelabras. How beautiful. Thank you Dudley, that was very kind. Please give my regards to your mother.” She gave some directions about filling the bowl with water and setting it on one of the side tables and getting some of the beeswax candles for the candelabra to go near it, and her cousin Gregor offered to arrange some flowers in it later.

A bite, some tea.

“Oh, Viktor, your friends went in on a case of aged whiskey. Very nice. And now we have a wine cellar to put it in. How convenient. Thank you so much. Mmm, this one is from Cousin Gregor. Oh, my. Lovely. The card says they’re the Bulgarian Ever-Blooming Concordia Rose, and the Bulgarian Ever-Climbing Concordia Rose and that he received official permission to have it leave the country. It’s white. Thank you, Gregor. I can't wait to see what Viktor will do with them.”

A bite, some tea, and a pause to greet the Windsors and thank them profusely for the Pendragon box, and not forgetting making her table an elegant one.

“This one is from Father Michael.” Hermione, the muggle-born, burst out laughing. “Oh,  _ excellent.  _ Let me see. Yes. It’s a home video set up. TV. VCR. Speakers. Ooh, a DVD player. Fancy. Thank you Father Michael.”

More breakfast, more tea, a hello to the most recent arrivals.

“This one is from Minerva. Let’s see, the card says that the real gift she’s offering is to keep the Pendragon Suite at my disposal whenever I should need it for either ease of travel to and from Hogwarts, or should I wish to consult the Hogwarts Library, or for a minor retreat. She says the ridiculous gift, which will surely be one of many, is the following gadget. It was one of Albus’ collection. She is assured it will be helpful in advanced arithmancy calculations, and beyond that she has no idea what it is or what it does. Enjoy. Heh. Thank you very much, Minerva,” said Hermione, the Gryffindor.

Minerva acknowledged her with a wordless nod and continued her breakfast before she went off to intimidate Hagrid.

A bite, some tea, and a pause to greet her in-laws and thank them for the beautiful jewelry.

“This one is from Kingsley, it’s oh, goodness. Thank you, Kings. He says it’s the last intact time turner the Ministry is aware of, and he would just as well I be the keeper of both. Gracious. Tilly, put this in on my desk on the third floor,  _ very carefully _ .”

A bite, some tea, a pause to kiss her parents, thank them for the bracelet, and recommend the croissants.

“This one is from everyone at Gryffindor House. Hah! They gave me the Most Likely To Succeed Award. Not sure if that’s a stretch or not. This one is from Hufflepuff and it’s got air holes in it. Oh, goodness, they’re kneazle kittens. My goodness, we’ll be covered in cats. Midnight! Morning! Come meet your little brothers and sisters. Ginny, would you like to share in our bounty? Have a kneazle kitten. Which one? Excellent. Negash, do you need a kitten? Take one for Tommy, too. Okay, no, wait, don’t go anywhere you little things, I haven’t named you yet. Viktor, what do you think? Oh! Says the man who is going to raise a three-headed dog. Well, all the same. Alright, you’re Trouble, and you’re Dangerous, and I bet if you’re good, Viktor will share some of his steak with you. Now, this one’s from Ravenclaw. The card says they are gifts from the tower library, my goodness. Three books. One entitled,  The Secret History of Hogwarts , one entitled  Maria Pendragon the Squib , and one entitled  The Unbearable Secret of Being , oh my, they’re all authored by Rowena Ravenclaw. This one’s from Slytherin and I hope it’s not snakes. It’s snakes. Harry, please do something. I think this is the last one for today. Oh, it’s from Tommy and Negash, and their families. How very sweet you are. Heh. They bought me two pots of rainbow colored ink, one from each family, because they know I love everyone, regardless of who they are. I love it. I think I will write all my thank you notes in it. Tibbs, to my desk on the third floor. Thank you, friends.

“Well. That must be Riot Noise,” said Hermione, the classical music snob, noticing the change from Ravel and Rachmaninoff off in the distance.

Luna cancelled her dictaquills as the now full table sat laughing and chatting happily with Hermione on one end, Elizabeth on the other, and such a variety of thirty-odd different people in between, each one still a beacon of light, sixteen hours later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course there were more gifts than just these, but a plot-driven story can only host so many lists without just breaking the flow of the story and including a table: column one, country/family giving; column two, item/s given; column three, Hermione's reaction; column four, political ramifications. 
> 
> Any one want to hazard a guess as to Hagrid's gift? There could be an Easter Egg in the comments, for the winning guess, so if you're reading this late - guess, then check the chapter comments!


	52. Chapter 44: Wherein a firm deadline is observed.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone needs to go consummate something, sharpish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having such fun with your guesses on Hagrid's gift, but no one has got it quite, yet, so keep those guesses coming! :) And in the meantime, the moment you have all been waiting for.
> 
> The wedding night.
> 
> You're welcome!

Neville caught Hermione’s eye and she turned her attention to him, and away from Madam Tang Li, with whom she was having a fascinating conversation about ley lines and chi meridians. 

“Please forgive me for interrupting,” Neville said graciously, “Your Majesty, it is nearly time.”

She smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Longbottom. Madam Tang, I have so enjoyed our conversation. I would very much like to know more about the Chinese observation and study of chi meridians. Would you be willing to put me in contact with a bilingual scholar or two?”

Madam Tang bowed very deeply. “The Advisors will happily grant you this, I think, Your Most Excellent Majesty. We shall be in contact very soon and you shall have your pick of scholars with which to study.”

“Please convey my deep gratitude to the Advisors, and if you will, to the Golden Empire for being willing to share their wisdom with me.”

Madam Tang bowed even more deeply. “Your Most Excellent Majesty is both humble and kind. May Heaven’s favor be with you and your line forever. If it pleases you to consider it, Sweet Golden One of the Highest Heavens, the Golden Empire wishes to extend an invitation for Your Brightest Light of the Morning Sky to visit us during our new year festival, which occurs during the new moon of February.”

“I would be delighted to join you,” Hermione said quite sincerely, and thinking about Elizabeth’s very reasonable request for a cultural translator during her time this weekend, continued. “But I do not wish to misstep, and our cultures are quite different. I hope you won’t mind me asking for an advisor who will help me to understand the richness and nuance of the Golden Empire so I do not offer offence to anyone. Do that, and I’ll come every year, if you invite me,” she said spontaneously, not expecting Madam Tang’s response.

Full prostration. Tears. Presumably of joy, given the fact that she was Chinese, and they were somewhat more reserved than most. But then, maybe not?

Hermione shared a slightly panicked look with Neville, who knelt down next to the Chinese Ambassador.

“Madam Tang,” he said quietly to the woman who was sobbing in Mandarin. “Her Majesty is terribly sorry to have given you offence. Please accept her apologies or she will not be able to rest easy tonight.”

Hermione thanked Neville with her eyes and waited as the Ambassador rose with a grace Hermione was certain she herself could not employ. Neville certainly didn’t, when he got back on his feet.

“Heaven indeed smiles on her empire, Your Most Excellent Majesty, and the Golden Empire will flourish in Your Brilliant Presence. On behalf of the humble and antiquated Advisors, I shall presume to accept the most generous offer of Your Radiant Phoenix Self and we shall look for Your Brilliance to join us each new year. We shall dispatch upon Your Highest wishes an advisor to guide Your Excellency who shall be kindly and wise and not too harsh, for the Golden Empire knows the Queen Regent of All Avalon could never give offence with purpose.”

This, Madam Tang said all from a deep bow, but at least she was on her feet.

Hermione was just a teensy bit overwhelmed. A deep breath helped. “Thank you again, Madam Tang. Please excuse me for rushing our conversation. I look forward to our further communications, and now I must depart. I hope you have a wonderful evening.”

Hermione bowed and then began her retreat with Neville to where Viktor stood, across the garden in deep conversation. Very quietly she spoke to him, pulling him closer as he escorted her around and between people.  _ “Someone needs to find out, for the  _ **_love of Merlin, what_ ** _ is the Chinese Mandate of Heaven, and  _ **_why_ ** _ it is so important,”  _ Hermione hissed.

“I got the impression that Luna understood perfectly,” Neville responded, his voice also a whisper, but less hissy.

“Of course she did,” Hermione muttered, but was definitely more relaxed. “Well, no point in worrying about it now, I suppose.”

“I’ll make a note of it,” Neville assured her. “I’m keeping a notebook of such things so neither of us forget. I’ll get all the lists of gifts from Luna, too, and the invitation lists from Gran. I know you want to write all the thank you notes, but it doesn’t mean you have address them all, nor worry about sending all of them. Have you considered expanding and having an actual owlery? I mean, now that Greece has given you a parliament of owls?”

“Oh my God I have no memory of that. Right. Right. We’ll probably need to, won’t we? Make a note of that. And check in with the head elf of animals and farming on the state of all of the animals and plants we’ve received. I’ll want to talk with you, Viktor, and him, maybe on the third once this is all over to consider an overarching plan. And possibly a zoo. I think Viktor is going to want to keep the cerberus and train it himself - it’ll be not so much bigger than the dogs his father breeds, and he’ll know how to handle it without having it eat us all - and I’d really like to keep the wampus kittens, but I for one have no idea how I’m meant to raise a pair of somethings that will get to be tiger sized, and I’m certain we can’t leave them for four months when we return to school. A bit of expert help would be appreciated, and we’ll probably need a visiting vet consult for them all, too. Luna might know the name of a magizoologist who does house calls, otherwise talk to Charlie, he might have a lead or two. 

“Neville, I’m so glad you’ve decided to move in when we return in July. All the same, you should still consider your part-time mastery options. Lord knows I’m going to be studying half the time anyway.”

“Don’t worry, Ma’am. I’m on it.”

“I hate that,” Hermione pointed out.

“We’re in public, and we agreed. Ma’am,” he added, with a grin.

“So we are, Mr. Longbottom, so we are,” she admitted.

“Master Harris, how lovely to see you,” Hermione greeted. Neville let go of her arm and took a step back, but remained in case he was needed, possibly to expedite another conversation.

Her blood magic tutor bowed deeply and when he rose, he had a smile on his face. “Your Majesty. I was just speaking with His Highness about a prospective mastery. I’m very impressed with his grasp on the subject matter and would be happy to arrange a part-time mastery for him.”

Hermione smiled back. “I look forward to hearing his thoughts on the matter,” she said diplomatically.

“I would be honored to study under you, Master Harris. Thank you for your gracious offer.”

“Think nothing of it, sir,” the master replied. “It is a gift to find two such eager students in a subject that is so largely misunderstood in this country.”

“Well, I’m afraid I must tear my husband away. Please forgive us,” Hermione said with a smile.

“You may expect my owl after the holidays,” Viktor said, inclining his head in what Hermione couldn’t help but notice was an effortlessly regal fashion.

_ Dear God, he was beautiful.  _ Hermione really needed to get him in a bed as quickly as possible. Preferably their own.

Neville, bless his heart, escorted them out the nearest crimson curtain, through a blissfully non-emotive orgy room and then past the milling crowds of people _outside_ Concordia. Hermione could dimly hear that there was both a pick-up game of quidditch going on _and_ that Wyrd Sisters was playing a longer set than they usually did if they were still playing two and a half hours after their start time, but then they passed through the much smaller groups of people in the Great Room of the Curtain, all resident guests of the couple. Neville left them at the foot of the stairs with a cheeky comment and Hermione’s fingers pressed on Viktor’s arm. Their room, now officially named The Monarch of Avalon’s Suite but really just referred to as the Master Suite, and duly enlarged by the elves in ways neither one had really expected at first, was at the top of the grand staircase as it went up, curved around, and went up further still.

Hermione walked into the room, past the door that Viktor held open, only to see dozens of both white  _ and red  _ roses around the room. The scent was just stunning, calming and invigorating, both. She turned back to him and smiled. 

“Thank you,” she said.

He smiled and pulled his wand and removed the charm to help him maintain his gentleman’s composure. Hermione watched as his eyes dilated and narrowed at the same time. It made him look predatory, and God help her, that  _ turned her on so much.  _

“My dearest, most beautiful wife,” he began, walking slowly closer, taking his cloak off and tossing it back toward the wall, where it just hung neatly. “You cannot know how radiant and exquisitely, heart-breakingly lovely you are tonight.” He gently removed her cloak from around her shoulders and tossed it behind him, to receive the same treatment as his own. Hermione watched bemused, and still wanted to learn the charm. Maybe. Later.

Hermione smiled at him. “I will, if you tell me,” she said.

He smirked, took her face in his hands and caressed her cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. “You know,” he began. “It was the one thing I regretted about that first year with you. The only thing, really. My heart was bursting with love and passion and longing to be only near you, to only know your smile, to bask in the warmth of your heart. Yes, I dreamed about more, but those were the foolish dreams of the young. My one regret was that though I would have died for you, or lived for you, though I would have risked censure and courted you even at fifteen, my English was so dreadful and I was so nervous around you that you never knew. You never knew. How could you have? So I left you, uncertain, with part of my heart unwittingly in your hand, and I spent every extra moment learning English. I practiced. I took tutors. I read books in English aloud for hours and hours. I spoke only English at home for the last two years, and yes, the wedding that summer was a disappointment, but my heart was assuaged in a way when the attack occurred, because then your actions made sense. I saw you. I saw you grab your friends and escape and I prayed then that you would survive, and that the war would end quickly. And for a war, it did. And throughout all of this, I practice English, and it becomes my beacon of hope that you will survive, that I will have a chance to tell you, Hermione. To say in words you can understand, and so this is my gift to you. You have received many gifts today, most of them beyond imagination. Gifts that I could never give you, even if I wished to. So I will give you what only I can. 

“My gift to my Queen is my words. I will always tell you what you mean to me. I will always tell you the truth. I will never argue with you in public. Even when we disagree, I will continue to love you. I will never leave you.”

Hermione sniffled a bit, but there were no tears as yet. “Thank you, Viktor. I’m honored to receive your words and your devotion alike. I love you so much. Thank you for marrying me.”

He kissed her gently and she sighed into it, having craved this closeness on and off all day. The night before there had been no orgasms for either of them. She had been so nervous that Viktor had insisted she submit to a massage at his hands, and that was the last thing she remembered. At some point in the middle of the night she rolled over and snuggled into his warmth, and then there was nothing else until they woke with the sun, much later than either of them usually slept.

“So now I may tell you, my own Myon. I have seen the first glimmering of this beauty in you before, this quiet radiance, but now it blinds me and gives me new eyes to see you and all the world differently. The awe of it strikes me at my core and crumbles the false foundation on which I had built a castle of assumptions. I thought I knew what goodness was, what love was, but I bask in your presence and I am quietly taught another way. I do not have words for what is happening inside of me, but I know that it nurtures only more love for you. At seventeen I was bursting with love for you, but that was because my cup was too small. Now I am an ocean, a boundless sea filled with love and hope, peace and relief, and such happiness, such joy. The saints speak of divine union, of being able to see a vision of God in the other, and I know finally of what they speak. It is not romance, or a school boy crush of unrequited passion. It is all, and all in all, and it has changed me, as it has changed you. It has changed how I see others. It has changed everything, Myon. You have changed everything.”

There were tears now.

“Thank you, Viktor,” Hermione said, humbled. On one of Viktor’s bad days she couldn’t match his eloquence, and she certainly couldn’t today. “Thank you,” she whispered again.

He kissed her then, and she sighed. The feel of his lips and his hands was more soothing than inflaming after his beautiful words. 

When he broke the kiss off and moved his hands away from her face, smoothing them down her arms, she moaned a little.

“Let us remove some of this formality, Myon,” he said, gently pulling her toward her dressing table. She sat down on the little bench before it and he stood directly behind her, against her back, pressing firmly. He took her crown off and placed it gently to one side, and then took his own gold circlet off. They both removed the torcs they wore and put them on the other side of the table. Hermione took her earrings off, and then her bracelets and watch off. While she did so, Viktor ended the spells that had kept her braids in perfect condition for the last eight hours, which Narcissa had wandlessly recast for her after she took her Seat. He slowly unwound the braids, working his fingers through her hair and then massaging her scalp gently.

Hermione relaxed against him and when he stopped and took up her hands, removing  _ all _ her rings and setting them one by one on the table in front of them, she stopped him.

Her breath caught nervously. “Aren’t I supposed to wear them all the time?”

“No. Not for sleep. Not if they bother you. I cannot wear rings while I practice, or play, or train. You should not wear when you run. If you feel unsafe, keep your portkey set with you, but the hands swell, and even resizing rings are not always so good.” While he said this, he massaged her fingers and something unwound in Hermione. She wasn’t on the run anymore. Maybe she really was safe, now.

And somehow, knowing that Viktor was going to raise the most fearsome guard dog known to antiquity or modernity was deeply comforting to Hermione. The presence of magical tigers and full kneazles who would likely boss the dog around, the dog that was five to fifty times their size, was also  _ such a comforting thought.  _

She smiled, realizing they were probably all snoozing in a giant pile in and around Crookshanks, whether he liked it or not, all five of them.

“Thank you for taking such good care of me, Viktor,” Hermione said quietly.

He smiled, a small crooked thing. “This, too, I have longed to do. The quiet, domestic moments which are so intimate. We have had a taste of this already, yes. But until this last week, not entirely.”

Hermione smiled again and took a deep breath. She turned and as she did so, Viktor took a step back so she could rise easily. His hands touched her bare skin at her throat, his fingers skimmed over her collarbone and followed the neckline down and around.

“What if we mess up the rituals tonight?” she asked, her hands rubbing gently on his sides, just above his hips.

“I am not worried about this,” he stated plainly, leaning down to kiss her neck.

“No, really Viktor. It’s been such a day and the clock is running and we can't use the time turner and I don’t know if I can even unwind enough to manage a single orgasm, much less an extremely specifically  _ timed  _ one.”

“Bath, then,” he said, walking her slowly backwards, still kissing her neck.

“Viktor! Address the issue!” Hermione had moved her arms around his shoulders, but now she swatted at them.

He didn’t pause his kissing, but he did speak in between kisses as he walked her backwards baby step at a time. “We have just done a very intense blood ritual.” A pause for some licking and sucking and just a tiny bit of wriggling on Hermione’s part. “And in it were the things that we had wanted to accomplish here, tonight. Essentially.” More sucking. A bit of whining, but only a bit. “Safety. Peace.” He released her belt and let it fall and then started inching her dress up her hips. “So, unless you have a burning desire to do a different version.” He pulled the dress over her head and draped it on the dressing screen they were passing. “Which we could certainly discuss.” He paused to pull his tunic off and toss it somewhere behind him. “While I bring you off in the bath.” He kissed her mouth and she moaned into his, and it was possible he fumbled his arm holster off while his arms were around her. “It really isn’t a problem.” He shucked his trousers off and they were flung. Somewhere. “So I am not worried,” he finished, stepping into the bath and sitting down, holding out a hand to her so she could join him and sit in front of him.

She stepped in and hissed. The water was deliciously hot and when she sunk down and sat, leaning back against Viktor’s chest in the chest-high water her moan was long and drawn out.

“See? Hot water is good for all ills.” His arms came around her and held her close to him.

“Ungh.”

“That is exactly sound I wish to hear,” he said, shifting again, and pulling her hair back into a quick and loose braid, possibly so it wouldn’t go up his nose. Hermione couldn’t blame him.

“Remind me of our other options? I mean, the nice ones?” she asked.

“Rampant fecundity, controlled fecundity, multiple births. Those are the only ones I think are within our reach tonight.”

“The thought of giving birth six or seven or eight times makes me want to run away and hide,” Hermione admitted. She could feel Viktor nodding behind her.

“The thought of you in the danger of childbirth six or seven or eight times makes me want to run away and hide,” Viktor agreed.

“But we should probably have more than two, which was my previously considered number. I mean, there’s a lot of legacy to continue on.”

“How do you feel about twins, Myon?”

“As long as we don’t dress them the same and name them cutsey matching names. Cutsey matching names are for pets, not children.”

“Is that a yes to a few sets of twins, then?”

“I like it better than the alternative. What’s the ritual like? I admit that I just skipped over all the fecundity ones.”

Viktor tisked at her, but soothed her with his hands, which he had soaped, and started to wash bits of her.

“Is maybe easiest for us. One penetration, two orgasms. Only one of us needs to sing and draw the blood, and I can do that. Orgasm needs to be within moments of each other, and the closer together, the better. And the one penetration is my tongue,  _ here,”  _ he said his no-longer-soapy fingers pressing past her lower lips and rubbing against her clit and into her fairly moist channel.

“Oh. Well. Yes, that does sound feasible,” Hermione said, melting against him in the hot water as his finger worked some beautiful magic as it came back out toward her clit and said hello. She groaned and shifted around in slow motion in the water. “Oh, Viktor, oh,  _ yes.” _

“Mm,” he responded, satisfaction clear in his tone. “Added benefit of getting us both ready for a longer set of the forbidden dance,” he said whispering in her ear and caressing her side, just beneath her breast, even as one hand was between her legs. “I know you’ve longed to hold me tight inside of you, squeezing down on me, riding me, screaming out your pleasure without holding back as you pull me deeper and deeper in. I know you’ve craved it, to have an orgasm with a part of me inside of you, loving you, part of you. It’s a momentary magic all its own.”

“Yes,  _ yes, oh, yes.  _ And, and, you? Tell me your fantasies.”

He groaned. “I want to be inside of you so much, it’s maddening. A hundred different positions. A thousand different ways. I could not use the charm during the ritual, and it was so overwhelming. I wanted to take you right then, the moment you took your Seat. I wanted to pull you down into the grass and devour you, rut inside of you, wrapped in the power of that ley line which is ours, now. And I can feel it, here. It runs through our chamber, through our bed. Can you feel it?”

_ “Oh my God, is that what that is? I thought it was just the flowers!" _

“Mm,” he confirmed, part way between a moan and a groan. “It is so strong we’re twenty feet away and we can feel it. And when you orgasm around my tongue, lying on our bed and wrapped in its power, it will flare and  _ everyone who is near it will feel it, Myon.” _

Hermione thrashed against his hand, and he held her tight, his finger moving fast.

“And when I pound into you,” he whispered, still holding her tight as she whined and moaned, “ _ finally, finally,  _ my weight on yours, your legs wrapped around my waist, the power of the line caressing us as we join and reach for pleasure, our power will feed into it, and it into us, I wonder what it will be like to be in the courtyard of Concordia, all those dignitaries right on top of our ley line. Will they know why they feel so effervescent? So awake, so alive, so happy?”

Hermione mewed in discontent. “Less sexy,” she complained. “Go back to the sexy.”

Viktor chuckled and leaned around to nibble on her ear for a moment. “Did you want to hear,” he whispered softly, so softly, “about my cock? In your pussy?”

_ “Yes,”  _ she moaned.

“Have you pictured it, Myon?”

_ “Yes,”  _ she hissed.

“On our couch in your study in the Pendragon Suite?” he asked.

_ “Yes!” _

“Are you riding me as I sit there?” he asked her quietly, gently, slowly, his hands and fingers rubbing and holding her. “Do I have you bent over one of the arms, standing behind you and holding your hips as I thrust? Am I eating you out as you half recline? Or am I pounding into you in that same position? Am I holding your hair back as you suck me off while I sit there? Are we all curled up together while I gently fuck you from behind? Are we curled a different way, my cock in your mouth and my tongue in your pussy? Am I just fingering you under a blanket as you’re curled up in my lap? Are you sitting on my lap facing away from me and slowly grinding me into bliss? Are you kneeling face down on the cushions with me behind you slowly grinding into you, going deeper, deeper, deeper?”

_ “Ungh…” _

“Do you want to know what it feels like, all those beautiful, strong muscles of yours, to squeeze my cock and milk it dry, dry until the next time, and the next, and the next, time after time, day after day? Not a day will go by I won’t want you riding me, I won’t want to thrust up into you, to hear you moan my name. Not a day has gone by  _ since I met you at the World Cup _ that I haven’t wrapped my fist around my cock and come, thinking of you. And the last three months have done nothing but increase my appetite. I want you all night long, Myon. All night. Every night. Forever.”

Hermione’s body, which had been tensing more and more, was now entirely stiff. She was panting, all her muscles engaged, and then she burst in relief and orgasm. After a very long moment she sagged against him and moaned.

A long time of quiet later and her head lolled on his shoulder. She moaned before she spoke, her voice somehow a little scratchy. “All of that, was all of that true, Vitya?”

“Always. Some truth in fantasy. Some truth in past. Some truth in desire.”

She moaned again, arching her back and stretching, and then sighing as she settled back into him in the hot water that was so soothing she could just fall asleep right there. “I like it when you talk like that. Your voice. It’s so deep, I can feel it inside of me. And... I love your accent,” she admitted, and he smiled behind her. “The way your tongue curls around the vowels, your rolled 'r's, and sometimes your ‘w’s come out like ‘v’s instead. The occasional dropped pronoun.”

“You know, I try very hard to speak exactly right. This is not a very fine compliment,” he pointed out gamely.

“No! No, no, no, no, no!” She wiggled and scooted and hoisted herself up by the sides so she could turn around and kneel in front of him. She leaned in and kissed him, one hand braced on the side of the tub, one hand on his shoulder. “I  _ love  _ it. It’s  _ you.  _ My God, Viktor, English is your  _ fifth  _ language!”

“And now my strongest, besides Bulgarian.”

“Just, please don’t lose your accent. That’s all I’m saying. I can’t spontaneously compose a sonnet to it, but I love it just as much as if I could. Which I can’t. So just imagine I did and spouted off incredible eloquence concerning your voice, and now you’re so impressed you’ll just keep your accent.”

He raised one eyebrow, slowly. He pulled her toward him and kissed her lightly, gently, and in between kisses he spoke. “I, too, love the sound of your voice. You have never pronounced my name properly, no British person can-”

She reared back in alarm. All this time she had focused on whether or not he could pronounce her name, and she’d been doing it wrong for him?  _ All this time and he never said anything?  _ “What do you mean?”

“Vik- _ tor, _ ” he said slowly, enunciating the short i, the hard k, most of the emphasis on the first syllable, then the sharp t, the long o, and the soft r.

She blinked. Had he slightly rolled the r? He did, didn’t he? And he always had. He just rolls his r’s, a bit.

“Say it again,” she demanded, all seriousness.

“Viktor,” he said at a more normal speed.

And Hermione realized that when he said his own name, it always came out sounding like  _ VEEKtorr.  _ It was the way his parents said it. But of course that just wasn’t how you said the name Victor in English.

Hermione flushed in embarrassment. She started stammering out an apology, but a wet hand rose and brushed fingers across her lips to still them.

He shook his head and smiled. “You do not let me finish. The way you pronounce my name, is so soft, like a caress. No British person likes r’s at the end of words. You make them go away. But when you speak my name, it is almost exactly the way people who love me call me Vitya.”

“Viktor,” Hermione said softly, pronouncing it as she usually would.

“Vitya,” he echoed, staring into her eyes. 

Yes, yes, she could hear the similarity. It was so obvious, now that he pointed it out.

“Viktor,” she said again, smiling a little this time.

“Vitya,” he confirmed, nodding slightly.

“So,” Hermione began slowly, a small grin spreading across her face. “All this time, all these years, I’ve been calling you  _ Viktor,  _ and you’ve been hearing me speak endearments to you?”

“Yes,” he replied, a little nod and a little smile. “I tell you my nickname and hope that you see the connection, but you never did.” He quirked his eyebrows and his smile got a bit impish, just for a moment. “And sometimes you call me Vitya, but I always hear it in your voice, whichever way you say it.”

“Would you prefer if I called you  _ Viktor?” _ she asked, pronouncing it correctly for the first time.

“Mm, at this point, no. Not unless you are very unhappy with me.”

Hermione laughed once. “I’ll keep that in mind, thank you.” After a moment she spoke again. “You know, your nickname, it’s never really rolled off my tongue. I’ve wanted it to, because it’s yours, but it doesn’t, not the way Myon rolls off yours. But I  _ love  _ your name. That  _ does  _ roll of my tongue and somehow it feels like a caress down your back at the same time. Or soft kisses. Or very possibly, and I’ll need several attempts to confirm this, but I suspect it might also feel like hard thrusts.”

He wandlessly and wordlessly accio’d a towel into his hand and held it out to her, still folded.

She raised an eyebrow.

“What are you waiting for, Myon?”

Hermione stood up and wrapped the towel around herself and stepped out of the bath. She dried herself off quickly and hung up her towel, and then his. Viktor took her by the hand and led her to the bed and when the backs of her legs were pressed against it, he gracefully dropped to his knees, held his hand far out to the side and the handle of his ritual athame smacked into his palm.

He began singing softly, sweetly in Bulgarian, his face rubbing against her thighs. He sliced a shallow cut on the side of her calf, far away from major blood vessels, a cut along with his own which they would heal later once the ritual was complete. The smallest amount of blood on the knife, he cut his own calf in exactly the same place. 

He pushed her slightly then, onto the bed and she sat with her legs wide apart and Viktor right between them. He coaxed one leg up onto his shoulder, and she put the other one there as well. He rubbed his face on the inside of her thighs, still singing, but likely coming to the end. The song didn’t need to be long, and thank God it didn’t have to last until the orgasm. That might be impossible. His free arm came up and around her hips and started massaging her mons and then rubbing not just the head of her clit, but the entire organ as it stretched beneath the skin around the entrance that would eventually stretch around him.

She moaned his name as his song finished. She hadn’t wanted to distract him before - doing a ritual during foreplay was distracting enough - but now she was free to do so. And it was remarkably freeing, knowing she didn’t have to use his nickname for him to know how much she cared about him.

It was also amazing, this whole doing blood magic on a ley line thing.

She groaned his name and threaded the fingers of one hand through his hair as the other played with her own breast.

He nuzzled into her, moaning and beginning to eat her out gently at first, but then in earnest.

“Oh, God, Viktor, I don’t think this is going to take very long,” she warned him.

He pulled away just a little, looking down to the floor. “Talk to me. Tell me when you’re close. When you come, I want it loud. Scream my name.”

“Got it,” she confirmed, caressing the back of his head, and then she heard the knife clatter to the floor. It meant that he’d licked the knife and now had their blood on his tongue. He returned to her and she felt him stab his tongue inside of her, felt his thumb rubbing her clit, felt the buzz of the magic all around them, and inside of her, on his tongue.

“Oh, oh, that’s so good.” She whined his name and scratched at his scalp. “I can’t think… I’m supposed to… But I… oh, shit, oh, shit, oh, shit… more,  _ more, oh God, I think… I think… Viktor! Viktor! Oh, God, Viktor, now!”  _ She screamed mindlessly and hoarsely and clutched at his head, but she was dimly aware of one of his shoulders shaking as he pumped himself into orgasm, and much more keenly aware of the way he was moaning into her while kissing her in the most intimate fashion yet.

She gasped as she came down, batting his head away from her too sensitive bits. “Mm, too much,” she gasped out. “Viktor, stop, too much.”

When he looked up, his eyes hooded, her moisture smeared all over his face, he was breathing heavily through his mouth and she had never, not ever seen him look sexier.

“Actually,” she said, recalculating, “Get up here and fuck me.”

He shifted backwards ever so slightly then sprung up, shifting her legs up and around his waist. He nuzzled her breasts and nipped underneath them, then suckled on one of Hermione’s many, many categorized and cross-referenced erogenous zones. She writhed on the bed as he stood folded over her.

“I will not last long, Myon,” he said between sucking one spot and another and caressing her hips.

“Do you want me to suck you off first?” she offered, breathlessly, her hands on his shoulders. Oh, God, his shoulders.

He groaned, but refused to move. “Yes. No. Later. Definitely. But later.”

She nodded. “Mmm, okay. Still, your recovery time is impressive,” she gasped. “How are you doing?”

“Almost there,” he said, now latching onto one of Hermione’s nipples and sucking.

Hermione gasped his name and then started chanting it, writhing beneath him and trying to get some sort of friction between her legs, and then,  _ bliss.  _ The head of his cock rubbed her moisture all over  _ everywhere  _ and then the head of his cock did a glorious little tango with the head of her clit, and she was making the most obscene, guttural noises in between chanting his name. Possibly she could come again, just from his mouth and his cock doing what they were doing, but…

“Inside,” she begged. “Inside, I want to feel it. Oh, Viktor, please.” It might not be quite as good as this, he had warned her that not all women could come easily from penetration alone, but she needed to  _ know.  _ She needed to feel it for herself. And besides, it would drive him out of his mind, if she squeezed him right, and that thought was appealing as well.

Slowly, in and out, in and out, he teased her out of her mind as he pushed himself inside of her then retreated only to push in a tiny bit more. Half way he stopped, gasping. She paused her caress of him and just lay her hands flat on his back in what she hoped was a soothing, orgasm halting manner.

And then he started again and she almost cried in relief.

She had known exactly how big he was, and  _ lord above  _ how big he could get, but she had perhaps underestimated how small she was. The stretch was a little uncomfortable and a lot amazing. “So big,” she ended up gasping, and he stopped and looked at her with concern.

“Myon. Are you alright?”

She smiled in reassurance, and nodded. “You’re a hell of a tease, Viktor Krum. Er, Pendragon.”

He smirked at her. “Is not teasing. If I ram myself into you this first time, I would hurt you and I would do it while orgasming instantly. This is not a combination I wish to have. Slow is better,” he said, pulling out and then pushing back in a bit more than before, to the sound of mutual gasps. “For now,” he qualified, breathless.

“I like the way you stretch me,” Hermione said on a whisper.

“Oh, God,” Viktor groaned. “ _ Oh, God, Myon,”  _ he said and this time only paused before pushing further in. Then paused, and pushed further in still.

Hermione gasped and he stopped, panting over her, one of his hands firmly on her hips, the other supporting him on the bed. He was almost all the way in and she was starting to really, really,  _ really  _ like the feeling of him being inside of her. It wasn’t a pre-orgasmic feeling at the moment, but it might be in enough time. Without meaning to at all, her inner walls spasmed and she clenched down hard on him.

He cried out, his back bowing and his head thrown back and he stood tall above her and Hermione was about to apologize, but then he grabbed her hips a bit harder and with both hands and thrust all the way into her, the last inch or so, and he did it sharply, all at once. He cried out again and again as he pulled out of her and thrust back in once, twice, three times. He stayed like that, utterly bottomed out in her, as big as the world inside her, and she could feel him pulsing. And, wow. Wow. She shivered, the feeling was so nice. But she was fairly certain she’d accidentally triggered his orgasam (oops) and so he’d need a little break.

As Hermione was considering these things logically, Viktor all but fell on her, catching himself on his arms and grunted a little. “Mm, Myon. Let go. Have to lay down.”

She unwound her legs and grunted a little at her hips, which had protested holding the position for so long. They both crawled up the bed and collapsed on the pillows, Hermione pulling up the covers over them and snuggling into Viktor’s chest.

He moaned and pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her. “Are you hurt? Even a little?” he asked gently.

“No, not even a little,” she smiled into his chest. “I’m sorry about that toward the end. I know you wanted to try for longer, but it was starting to feel really, really good, and I think it was sort of involuntary.”

“Mm,” he replied and the sound of it was no less like pure sex than it had been before. “Never apologize for squeezing me like that. Practice using on purpose, yes. Apologize for using it however, no. My Myon, I have never come so hard in my life. All my fantasies will have to be rewritten, now. None of them measure up to actually coming inside of you.”

Hermione grinned and shifted. It wasn’t graceful, per se, but she got the job done. He rolled slightly to his back to accommodate her and she finished sitting on his hips, the sheet and blanket pushed off and down his legs a bit.

“So. That’s two for me and two for you. Do you think if you orgasm twice more, you’ll last a bit longer the fifth time, just naturally without having to try so hard?” she asked, her hands running over and around his chest, her fingertips catching on his nipples.

He shrugged and shoved another pillow behind his head, and then rested his hands on her thighs. “Either that, or you will have fucked me into unconsciousness, Myon,” he said with a smirk.

Hermione almost tried to hide her smile. “Won’t it be interesting to see who can do that to whom on which day?” she said leaning over him and beginning to lick. Really, he had done all the work in their last three encounters, and it was her turn.

He hissed as she got a good spot on his neck. “I had no idea you were so competitive, Myon.” He arched his neck to give her space.

She released his skin with a popping sound and started in on the side of his ribs, which made him hiss more. 

“In sport,” she eventually replied, “never. In all the rest of life,  _ always.”  _

And then she rode him and paused many, many times, drawing out the pleasure and making him wait every time it looked like he was enjoying himself too much, and it felt  _ so good  _ having him stretch her and rub in and out. The next time she moved she added a little circular motion with her hips and it was so nice. Pleasure, pause. Pleasure, pause. Pleasure, pause, until she paused and he began whining. Begging.  _ And she liked it so much.  _ Maybe a bit too much. She leaned down and stared into his eyes.

“Do you really want to come this time?” she asked him in all seriousness.

His response was delayed as she looked into his widely dilated eyes full of sex and longing and finally he answered her. “No. More.” 

She raised a single eyebrow and a shiver went down her spine and she didn’t try to hide it from him as she circled her hips around on his before lifting off of him and slamming back down. It was a bit of an athletic endeavor, and she was privately happy for the pauses, but Hermione figured that if she rode him often enough, both of their stamina would improve.

The thought filled her with a feeling like smugness. Or perhaps that was Viktor.

Hermione rode him again, letting her head sag back and feeling the tickle of hair on her back. Viktor was palming her breasts which she understood he was very fond of.

He groaned out a request for her to stop and she did so, looking at him languidly. His eyes were clenched tight.

“So beautiful,” he ground out, now panting, his face contorted in what might have passed for pain, in other circumstances. He groaned and shivered. "Myon, oh…"

Hermione very carefully did not move, even though she had a puckish urge to clench her muscles around him. She refrained and took some deep breaths instead.

It was another two times before she decided to just fuck it. Or him, really. It was hard to keep up the momentum in her own orgasam, or the possibility thereof, but it was a surprising amount of fun, teasing Viktor mercilessly. This time when she started riding him again, moving her hips slowly back and forth, circling around on the downstroke, drawing out the agony on the upstroke before she slammed back down again, she just kept going when it looked like he was really starting to enjoy himself. It was quite nice, actually, on her own account not to stop, because damn he felt good.

"Myon," his eyes snapped open and she grinned at him, then squeezed him tightly inside of her.

Viktor reacted quite strongly. His hips shot up, bowing his body up like a thing of pure muscle and beauty, lifting Hermione up with him and he called out, something like a guttural scream, and not in a language with which Hermione herself was familiar. 

She kept riding him, leaning over with her hands on his shoulders for stability, gasping because he was clearly about to come and he got just that tiny bit bigger when he was about to come, and  _ fuck  _ if she'd been a bit closer that last growth spurt of his might be able to tip her over the edge, because it was hot as hell, but alas, she was not nearly close enough. Still. It was a fun ride.

Meanwhile, Viktor was in the throes of some serious passion and the orgasm itself seemed to be lasting longer than last time. Hermione wondered if that was normal, for the second time around. Or, really, the third. And who knows if he'd masturbated in the morning, before she woke up. It was possible. Still, she would have to keep a mental record of this and see what sort of trends were normal, how big the standard deviation really was, and what she had to do to make it as good as possible for him. Well, for them both, really.

Hermione rode him out until he collapsed back on the bed, still astride him, and still she could feel him pulsing inside of her and she moaned a little. It would be nice to come again, to be honest, but she knew it would be like this certainly until he had a bit more stamina, or until he had a bit of stamina and they could manage to stimulate her and keep her stimulated enough to ride high through the lulls.

By all that was holy, he was so hot when he came, though. Almost entirely incoherent in his desire, but still calling her name? So hot.  _ So hot.  _

"This isn't a judgment," she began, "because you are hot as anything when you come, and I loved riding you.  _ And also,  _ I really want to come, Viktor. Oh, God, I want to come so bad."

He opened his eyes slowly and Hermione shivered. He groaned and searched for her hand with his. "Cannot move," he said in the sexiest growl she'd ever heard from him. "You come here." He tapped the pillow next to his ear with his free hand, except it was less of a tap and more of a repeated flop of the hand. "Kneel here."

Hermione's eyes went wide. She swallowed hard. "Are you sure?" she asked. She was full of cum. He had to know that, as he had done the filling. But the thing, she had noticed, about being filled with cum was it didn't last long and mostly wanted out, which felt disturbingly like menstruating without a pad or tampon and was reflexively not a feeling she loved so far. But she couldn't do a wandless evanesco and her wand was somewhere over there. Also, there were no handy towels or any such thing. Not even the odd t-shirt or sock. But there was, at this point, the odd wet spot on the bed, which felt a bit awkward. So… he couldn't really… mean…  _ that.  _

His look intensified and he pulled on her hand. "Come here," he said clearly, and yet still in that deep growl.

Hermione's eyes blew wide again, except this time she panted and ground herself on him. "I'm all… juicy," she warned one last time, about ready to do as he asked. Demanded.

"And I am thirsty. Come. Here. Myon."

She scrambled up his body without accidentally kneeing him and called it a win. It took a minute to figure out exactly how her knees should go and how many pillows should be under his head - one folded in half, as it turned out, and she shouldn't actually be kneeling on it - and she had a firm grip on the headboard as Viktor had a firm grip on her arse and was eating her out as one might go face first into a melon if one were truly dedicated to the task.

And he was.

He held her tight to him, and otherwise didn't move at all, from the neck down. But he ate her with verve, licking and sucking at her thighs, cleaning her of their combined fluids and groaning as he went. He sucked on the head of her clit and she keened and rocked on him.

This, this,  _ this  _ is what she wanted, what she needed.

She screamed in outrage when he moved on, then nearly died of pleasure when he continued licking other areas, cleaning her, drinking her. When he finally returned to the head of her clit and sucked she begged him to stay right there and go harder, harder,  _ so much harder.  _

He did. She screamed his name. The most amazing pleasure coursed through her body as she came as hard as she ever remembered coming. This time she didn't want him to stop, and she wasn't over sensitive. This time she wanted him to keep going, and keep going harder.

More. Harder.  _ More. Harder. _

"Dammit, Viktor! Harder!"

And then Hermione found herself gently flung from his face and down the bed and then he was over her, twisting her around so she was on her hands and knees, rearing up behind her and plunging back into her, his cock hitting deeper places than before even just on the first thrust. He grabbed her hips hard and slammed himself into her over and over again and  _ it felt amazing. _

She screamed his name.

"Yes! Viktor! Yes! Yes! God, just like that! Oh, God, fuck me! Fuck me so hard!"

She had come with his tongue on her clit and thought it could keep going, but it dimmed a little until he slammed back into her and then she started coming  _ all over again, _ and now she was finally coming down a bit again, but Viktor wasn't. He was still slamming into her, growling.

Which was really, so, so hot.

Hermione whined a bit and started pushing back again, pushing against his pounding. Then she was whispering.  _ "Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck, Oh, God, Viktor, I could, I could, I could come again, oh fuck, oh-my-God is this a multiple orgasm?" _

_ "YES,"  _ he growled and shifted, holding onto her tightly around the abdomen and then  _ rolling-oh-my-god _ and then they were on the edge of the bed again, a different edge, but who cared, and he was standing on the floor and still inside of her and her legs were folded up under her as he slammed up into her as hard as he possibly could. One hand was on her hip, one was just above where his cock was slamming into her, pressing into the head of her clit with what rhythm he was capable of.

She screamed his name.

She chanted the words,  _ "FUCK!"  _ and,  _ "VIKTOR!"  _ in her own private litany of devotion, slowly screaming herself hoarse as she peaked again and started begging him to come. His only response for a long moment was one hard thrust after another, both hands on her hips now, and the sound of his panting breath, and she thought he might say no, but then he shuddered and his pace shifted, a little harder even still, a little faster, manically fast now and one final strangled, " _ Myon…"  _ He held himself still inside of her, only twitching and pulsing and she could feel him coming. Through this he groaned and panted and called her beautiful, and finally they crawled into bed, sideways, and couldn't be bothered to straighten themselves out for a very long time afterwards.

Perhaps even an hour.

They had sex again, and again, and _again._ Then they slept, and had sex twice more before sleeping another three hours before breakfast. Not even Viktor, as intuitive as he was concerning blood magic, and not even Hermione, as wary as she was concerning _unintended consequences_ had figured out that a) this was not normal, not even for a young couple, not even for a horny couple, not even for a magical couple, not even mixing the roses, and b) this had begun during the ritual on the ley line, it had continued with another ritual on the same ley line, _and it hadn’t really stopped yet._

They had no way of knowing, as of yet, that each couple was making their home on their particular ley line, and that they were the last ones to consummate the ritual, for that was what they had done, and holding out much longer than the others who didn’t even try to fight against the compulsion, and whose cultures put no impediments in their way.

Eventually they would discover that it wasn’t really about sex, and yet it rather was. It was about living and breathing and eating, about making your home in a place, in community with the other three of your circle of four. And sex with your mate, on your line was the symbol of that.

Hermione’s former ley line expert couldn’t have told them that, and neither could her blood magic expert, as neither one of them had witnessed or heard tell of meddling on this grand of a scale.

Gelwyn, Firenze, or Mory could have told them, or any of their mates, but of course those would be the people Viktor and Hermione would be least likely to ask, which just went to show that they still had a lot to learn.


	53. Chapter 45: Wherein everyone has a lovely morning.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yes, yes, Hermione and Viktor are finally married. But let’s check in on everyone else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, hello there! It's been longer than I like between updates, but that's life sometimes, huh? I hope everyone is doing well. :) 
> 
> So, this marks the half-way point in the story. (I think.) And I will admit that I only know vaguely what is going to happen in the second half, with a few odd scenes and chapters written ahead. But then again, when I started I only knew vaguely what was going to happen in what became the first half, so I suppose we're doing just fine, and this is par for the course.

Dudley watched in fascination as his cousin got up at the Queen’s bidding and picked up a basket of snakes and started hissing at them. Bill and Fleur were sitting to one side of Dee and Mrs. Berhe and her family were on the other.

“You don’t have to worry,” Negash said quietly from a few places down. “Harry talks to snakes all the time.”

“His Grace,” Mrs. Berhe corrected.

“Sorry, Mum. His Grace. His Grace talks to snakes all the time. The snake around the blond lady’s neck is Sauce Pot, Harry’s Therapy Snake. I think she’s borrowing him for the weekend.”

Dudley remembered the Incident at the London Zoo, in the Reptile House, and then tried very hard to push it from his memory. After all, he’d been an utterly rotten child then and he’d bullied Harry something awful. Served him right to be trapped in a Boa’s watery display. At least the Boa wasn’t in there anymore.

Had rather cut that birthday trip short, however.

“A kitten, gifted from the Queen herself, I can deal with, especially if you take it back to school with you,” Mrs. Berhe said so quietly Dudley almost didn’t hear. “Absolutely no snakes. None. Don’t even ask. Don’t even think about it.”

“Yes, Mummy,” Elsbet and Negash chorused quietly.

“Mummy? Negash has a kitten…” Elsbet started, sadly. Dudley could see where it was going.

“Negash is twelve, and can be totally responsible for the kitten, which he is allowed to take to school with him. When you are  _ twelve,  _ at the end of the  _ year,  _ we will discuss what you can be totally responsible for.”

_ “I’mgoingtogetapuppy!”  _ Elsbet breathed in happiness and delight.

“Oh, I seriously doubt that,” Mrs. Berhe muttered.

Dudley, trying to be surrupitous about it, was observing this little bit of parenting and yet again marveling at how different it was from his own experiences growing up. It was clear, very clear, that Mrs. Berhe loved her two children equally, but she managed to do it without spoiling one and putting down the other and Dudley… just marveled.

“Right,” Harry muttered somewhat loudly, and he had Dudley’s attention again. He watched as his cousin reached into the basket and with a quick movement, brought out a single, beautifully white snake, holding it just under the head, and then supporting the rest of the body with his other hand. It wasn’t a very large snake. He walked out of the castle with it and Dee just looked around the table to see if anyone could explain what was going on. Was he just going to release it onto the grounds? That seemed… odd.

A few minutes later he came back with a basket and brought it back to Her Majesty at the end of the table, and then brought the other basket of snakes to her as well and had a conversation Dee couldn’t hear.

Dudley was  _ so  _ curious, but then, he was curious about many things. What was in the egg that the person who worked at the school had given her? The one she had said was so dangerous it could kill them all? And why would people give the Queen dangerous things?

What kind of idiot gives the gift of danger? Or is that someone you are  _ supposed _ to offer monarchs? As a mark of respect, or something? It felt kind of… wrong to Dudley.

He got up to get some more eggs and another small steak, and a couple of fried tomatoes besides.  _ Damn  _ he was hungry this morning, but that’s a night of drinking for you. He  _ really _ wanted a plate full of fried potatoes, but that would be some significant backwards progress on his training and eating schedule, and though he now wanted to learn French more than he wanted to make the intramural rugby team… well, he still wanted to make the team if he could. Just a bit of fun, maybe, but it was, like, a point of pride. That he could put behind him all the trappings of the old Dudley - spoiled, rotten, fat, entitled, and nothing but a bully. He wanted to try for something and if he failed… then he failed. And if he succeeded, then he had really earned it. It’s the way his studies were going for him - he wasn’t going to get firsts this year, but he was finally learning how to study, really, and not just coast.

He looked down at the breakfast buffet and sighed happily. Oh, protein. How he loved protein.

Dudley helped himself to the eggs and steak… and exactly one tablespoon of fried potato, just as a little taste. Without even realizing it as he went back to his seat between Bill and Mrs. Berhe, he sighed in happiness again. This was turning out to be the best and most exciting weekend he’d  _ ever  _ had. And the Queen threw a hell of a party, and the breakfast bar was just awesome. Steak and eggs and tomatoes for breakfast were his absolute favorite.

And this morning, he and Harry were going to hang out. The last time they did something even remotely close to that, Dementors showed up. Unlikely this time, Dee reckoned.

As he ate in a leisurely fashion, Dee chatted with Bill and Fleur and learned a little more about their home, and how Fleur was inspired by the expansion spells used on the castle.

“They make luggage like that, right?” Dudley asked.

Bill agreed, but pointed out that you had to be an expert to make sure the spells were sturdy and strong and as he said this, he gave a significant look to his significant other. She flitted his concerns away with a flutter of her fingers.

“I will make a little study of this, that is all. If I prove able, all the better. If not,” she ended her statement on a shrug.  _ “Cest la vie.”  _

Bill admitted that there was more time, not fighting a war.

Across the table from Bill sat Mr. Jackson and the table was not so wide across that conversation couldn’t comfortably flow. It was then that Mr. Jackson caught Bill’s eye and asked his question.

“Now what’s all this about a war? The newspapers only reference it obliquely and we’ve never gotten a straight picture of what on earth really happened,” he said, voicing some of Dudley’s own questions. “Is the wizarding world really safe for my son?”

“It is now,” Bill said, with an air of finality, the sort of way that seemed to end conversation. Sort of. Not for Mr. Jackson, though.

“Yes, but what happened? I mean, I understand Hogwarts was  _ under siege.  _ And the students fought.  _ Children. In a war.”  _

Fleur answered, and she was charming as ever, Dudley thought. “It is too early, and the day is too beautiful and promising to begin it with talk of insane men and their bids for power, yes? This evening. After dinner. After the children are asleep. Then I will answer your questions.”

“Can anyone come?” Dudley asked, meaning to be quiet and unobtrusive, but of course it didn’t quite work out that way.

“But, yes. I will tell the story of the war, at least the story that I know, and I will answer questions as I am able. My heart was not so broken as others, my family safe always, and me, I only fought at the end, and so my scars are not so large as some. My nightmares not so deep.”

“Thank you,” Mr. Jackson said, subdued but not, Dudley thought, upset. It was more… respectful. Like he suddenly remembered to have tact.

Dudley could commiserate.

He continued to eat in silence and the conversation flowed around him. Negash and Tommy were having fun, if fun was the right word, juggling inquisitive magical kittens on their laps and trying to eat with some manner of decorum at the same time. Dudley was trying not to stare, but it was pretty amusing. Mrs. Berhe and Mrs. Jackson had sought out the resident animal expert of the table, Charlie ‘I Wrangle Dragons’ Weasley and were peppering him with questions about raising magical creatures in general and everything he knew about kneazles in particular. Dudley listened because there really wasn’t too much he felt he could learn about the other half of reality he’d ignored for so long. Meanwhile, Negash had named his kitten Oxford and Tommy had named his Mariner.

The food was gone, but Dudley was still absorbing atmosphere and the teapot seemed to just refill itself when Harry was suddenly next to him. Most of the people at the table had drifted away to begin their day however they were going to, but Dudley had lingered, partly loving every minute, and partly waiting for Harry.

“One last cuppa?” Dudley offered.

“Yeah, alright,” Harry said and swung his legs over the bench next to him. 

Dudley poured a cup of tea for his cousin and began speaking in a low voice. “It was really good of you to invite me here, and kind of… open this world to me, especially… especially with what an arse-face I was. I’m really sorry, and I hope all this means you know it.”

Harry silently nudged him with his shoulder.

Dudley continued, after a little space of quiet between them that honestly, didn’t feel so bad. “Dad’s a right bigoted git. And I don’t want to be like him. And I love Mum, but… she’s far from perfect. She doesn’t really encourage Dad anymore. A bit oppositional, really.” After a momentary pause he added, “I don’t know.”

Dudley had seen so much in the last 24 hours, and really, so much of an obvious about-face with his mother in the last week, but he still didn’t have words for what was going on inside of him.

“I know this probably doesn’t mean much, but if you ever need anything, if I could ever help, I’ll be there. I’ll do it. I owe you so much, and not just because you saved me from the Depression Monster Who Sucks Out Souls For Fun.”

Harry snorted in what Dudley thought was suppressed laughter.

“Will you tell me about Aunt Lily and Uncle James?”

Dudley castigated himself silently as Harry went stock still, teacup halfway to his mouth. When he spoke, it was a fragile, far away voice he hadn’t heard since they were very, very young.

“Mum was shallow. Dad was a bully. They died to protect me. Tom killed them. And then I killed Tom. Over and over again. I killed Tom so many times, you have no idea. It never got any easier, but then… it was never very difficult. Every time I killed him I think a part of me died, too. Until finally, almost dead, I killed him one last time. He won’t be resurrecting himself this time. And I don’t want to kill anyone any more.” He stopped, took a sip of tea and then sighed out the entirety of his last statement, “God, half the time I can’t even stand to eat meat.”

Dudley very quietly put his tea cup down.

“Our parents were remarkably similar, then,” he said, quietly addressing the bit he had some sort of context to address.

Harry snorted. “Yeah, I suppose they were. I mean, Dad’s friends spoke well of him, but then friends often do. But the people he bullied were scarred by it, and there’s no escaping that. There’s no escaping that. And Mum… I don’t know. I mean, they were my parents. They loved me. They died for me. I should be a whole lot more loyal than I feel right now, maybe. But for so long I’d put them on these pedestals, you know? I’d kind of, kind of… made them into saints or, or, martyrs, I guess, in my mind. But in the last few years I’d come to understand that they really weren’t saints. They’d made some dreadful decisions. Hurt people for stupid, selfish reasons. And as much as I honor their heroism, in other ways… I really don’t want to be like them, either.”

“Mum can be shallow,” Dudley admitted. “I guess it’s not such a stretch to think that her sister was, too. But why did both of them marry bullies?” Dudley asked, totally perplexed, looking over at Harry, who burst out laughing and in the end just shrugged and shook his head.

Dudley was distracted as the witchiest witch he'd ever seen strode back into the Great Hall of Cair Paravel. Harry leaned in and said softly, "That's Headmistress Minerva McGonagall. She used to be the Deputy Head, under the old Headmaster, and she was head of Gryffindor House for ages. Transfiguration Mistress. Hard as nails, huge amount of integrity. She's also one of Hermione's advisors. And she looks like she might have just throttled a half-giant."

Dudley blinked. "Would whatsisface really have given something that dangerous?"

Harry snorted and rolled his eyes. "Hagrid has an altered sense of danger. Heart of gold, mind. Tiny bit thick, though. But for a giant, apparently, incredibly intelligent."

Dudley blinked again and some connections were made. "Wait. Is he that guy..."

"Who found us on the island when I turned eleven?" Harry nodded, answering his own question.

"Blimey, he was huge," Dudley pointed out.

"He's still huge," Harry confirmed.

_ "He did  _ **_what?_ ** _ " _ A screech was heard from the magical queen's end of the table. Mostly everyone had buggered off already, but Her Majesty was still there, sitting with someone, quietly speaking about something or other. Well, quietly until just then.

_ "How did he get a chimera egg?!?" _

Dudley looked back and forth between Harry and his blood sister.

"Isn't that... kind of a Greek... mythical... thing?" he asked under his breath.

Harry made kind of a wordless moan thing. "Except for the myth, part. Exceptionally dangerous, too." He groaned a quiet expletive. "She's going to need some sort of managed zoo type thing. D'y'know she got seven out of eight types of dragons last night? Plus all kinds of other animals, magical and non, farming and otherwise. I mean, elephants, tigers, lions, monkeys, koalas, horses, deer, sheep, pigs,  _ boar _ , cows, owls, and that's on top of the snakes, kneazles, wampus cats, the cerberus, the kelpie, the  _ queztalcoatls _ , and a sphinx! Egypt gave her a sphinx! Can you imagine it?"

Dudley just kept blinking. "Wait, an  _ actual _ sphinx?"

"I talked with Luna last night," Harry quietly confirmed, but his voice was drowned out.

_ "How the hell does one raise a chimera without  _ **_dying in the process,_ ** _ Minerva?!?" _

Dudley and Harry both listened quietly for the answer, sharing a rather sneaky look that proclaimed despite differences, they  _ had _ been raised in the same household.

The Headmistress's voice was measured and dignified and deeply Scottish in accent. "One calls in Newt Scamander. I don't  _ care _ if he's in retirement. I'm older than he is by three years and  _ I'm _ still working."

"D'you think he'd help?" the Queen asked, sounding very young, and Dudley was forcibly reminded that she was, in fact, his age, even if she'd been through a war and had her head screwed on a bit tighter than he had his.

"Oh, please, Yer Majesteh," said the Scottish witch who was obviously somewhere between sixty-five and four hundred years old. "The man has a soft spot for magical creatures. Just send the letter and ask for as much help as possible, and see if he can't come immediately."

Dudley looked back at Harry and whispered, "I can't even. So, circus, market tents, or the stage?"

"Festival food," Harry said, after a moment of consideration. "I'm making up for lost time. You tried the deep fried pizza? It's not half bad."

They walked out into the fresh air and blue sky and Dudley listened as Harry told him about the magic inherent in libraries, and the work he wanted to do with the Pendragon library, eventually, which the Queen promised she would hold for him, as a task.

* * *

Draco walked arm-in-arm with his mother until they stood underneath a grapefruit tree that both of them could tell - he was certain she could - was a place so many privacy spells had been cast over the centuries that even a millennia apart from those times the space remembered and went half-private just as they entered.

He quirked an eyebrow, just a single flick, as if to say,  _ should we even bother casting the privacy spells? _

His mother gave him a galling look, as if to say,  _ I can’t believe you would even ask. Of course we cast the privacy spells! _

She sighed, which was the outward sign, when she chose to give one, that she had cast hers.

Draco focused with all his might on one of the two spells he could do wandlessly and wordlessly and tried desperately to not show he was concentrating so hard. But his mother knew. He hated that he had a tell. He really ought to practice it more often until he could do it more easily, but this sort of magic was  _ anything  _ but easy.

“How are you, darling?” his mother asked. If they had been truly alone, she might have touched his face, given him a kiss, but they were still in public, so her hands remained lightly clasped in front of her.

He swallowed back a wry smile. “Well, thank you, Mother. Luna and I have decided to marry, but we’ll delay the announcement until after the festival. We don’t intend to steal Hermione’s thunder.”

Her eyes widened and she reached for his hands, which she held in both of hers, squeezing them affectionately. “Oh! I’m so pleased for you, Draco. Truly, I don’t think you’ll ever regret this decision, not once. Now, have you decided upon any details?”

They talked briefly on the things he and Luna had considered on and off for the last week. Luna was planning the honeymoon, though she wanted to start in his vineyards and the Chateau in France. They wanted a small wedding, in Hermione’s standing stones, if she would allow it. They hoped for a wedding just after her graduation.

They stood quietly for a moment.

“May I speak of it with her? With Luna, I mean?”

“Yes, of course. She knows I was going to find a moment to tell you. But how are you doing, Mother? This is a much larger do than I realized, and from what I can tell, it’s all you.”

“Oh, pish,” Narcissa said, preening slightly and squeezing his hands one last time before resuming her polite stance. “Augusta has done her part, and frankly I’d rather deal with the merchants, artists, and construction personnel. She can  _ have  _ the Ministry. Bunch of little toads. Self-righteous, self-defeating, amoral-moralizing little toads.”

Draco’s brows went up without his permission. He’d never actually heard such a forthright opinion from his mother.

“I’m so glad you have no interest in politics, my dear. Leave it to Hermione. She’ll eat them alive and serve them right.” 

Draco continued to observe the rare and beautiful creature that was his mother, unbound.

“Now. A little owl told me you may have found a new vineyard manager for Burgundy?”

They spoke for a short while, but Draco didn’t keep her long. He knew she’d be needed shortly, if she wasn’t already and that her time was at a premium during the festival. When they left and went their separate ways, Draco was tempted to go get a book from the library and find a quiet spot tucked away, but he was hailed by Professor Berhe and Mr. Jackson - bit of an odd pair, that, but it seemed obvious that their wives had hit it off and their children were off playing somewhere - and he was called on for his opinion on expandable tents versus expandable luggage. Draco cheerfully joined the men and had not failed to notice how easily conversation flowed.

Draco had a fleeting consideration of the following question:  _ is this what having real friends is like? _

* * *

Right. Right.

Hermione was ready. She’d written a personal note to a man who’d written one of her text books, politely begging his immediate assistance, at least immediately as of tomorrow. The lanyard was around her neck. She had her wand and belt bag and extra layers in her bag, along with a bottle of water. The RayBans were pushed up on her head. Trouble and Dangerous were snoozing next to Crookshanks by the fire in the Master bedroom, but Morning and Midnight were zooming about the room, careening into furniture and pouncing on each other. Gallant, Three-Headed Puppy of Legend, was happily in the care of her father-in-law this morning while Viktor practiced with his team.

It took ten minutes to get the wampus kittens actually attached to their leads and at one point Hermione had to just sit them firmly on the bed, stare into their eyes and lecture them about being good kitties.

“I  _ must  _ put you on your leashes because we’re going out and there are many, many people about. If you go too far away, someone might pick you up and steal you off, and  _ then  _ how will you grow up and protect me? You shant. And we’ll all be very sad that you’re gone. So you must go on the lead and stay on the lead. And no tying me up in knots, either.”

They seemed more docile after that. Slightly.

Hermione looped her Gryffindor scarf around her neck, took the leashes firmly in hand and went downstairs to the Salon she had promised to meet Elizabeth in before they headed out for a lovely walk that would end up at the Royal Pavilion at the back of the crowd waiting for the theatre production to begin.

In fact, they met on the stairs.

“Good morning, Elizabeth!” Hermione chirped from a few stairs above and hurried down to catch up with her feudal lady.

“Ah! Hermione.” The old woman reached out a hand to catch one of Hermione’s, squeezed it briefly and then let go. After a moment and three steps down, she spoke again. “Now. How are you really doing?”

“Um, honestly? Tiny bit overwhelmed. Still. Mm, little paranoid about going out in the crowds, but I wouldn’t miss Stewart’s production or Viktor’s game for anything, and I’m awfully glad to have time with you. I feel like I know you so well, but we rarely speak.” Hermione swallowed a giggle. “And how are you doing? No adverse effects from magical phenomena?”

The Queen waved her concern away. “No, let’s discuss you. There will be things that press on you, and some of them will require utterly immediate attention. Of course you must attend to those, and delegate wherever it is reasonable to do so. But you must allow yourself a bit of time - and by that I mean at least several days together - where the better part of each day allows you to do… whatever it is that brings you peace. Potter about in the garden. Swim in the sea. Organize your books. But not work, and not reading, unless it’s utterly ridiculous novels you’re reading. Those are quite alright. But nothing edifying, or which in any way resembles work. Agreed?”

Hermione sighed a very large, very audible sigh. “Yes, ma’am,” she responded in a totally defeated tone.

Elizabeth chuckled and patted her on the arm as they walked toward the Salon.

“You must learn how to relax or you shant live properly to two hundred and  _ then  _ where would we be?” she asked and Hermione laughed as they walked through the door to the Salon assigned for the Windsor’s use.

“Good morning,” Charles called from across the room, looking up from a book. “I say, this is fascinating stuff! Mother, have you read this?” he held up the book vaguely, and though the title wasn’t visible, the front cover design wasn’t anything Hermione remembered sending.

“No, what is it?” Elizabeth asked.

“ _ Oh, Merlin! An annotated history of exclamations, euphemisms, and aphorisms in Wizarding Britain from 1512 to 1973.”  _

“Oh, that does sound interesting. Good morning, Pembroke, Mr. Longbottom.”

“I thought we might stroll through the circus, and then make our leisurely way to the theatre, and come back for a late lunch after the show, if that suits?” Hermione asked Elizabeth.

The non-magical folk put on their coats and Hermione looped her scarf once more around her neck in preparation for venturing out, though the weather was relatively mild. She shoved down the anxiety she felt and took several calming breaths before leading the way. She wondered, as she did so, if she was nervous about the crowds, nervous about going out into public with, essentially, kittens and expecting them to behave themselves, or if she was nervous about spending time with Elizabeth.

She  _ had  _ been looking forward to it.

The old monarch was wonderfully funny and understated in her letters and it was easy to forget, sometimes, who she was and the fact that she was as old as Granmere. Harder to forget when walking beside her.

“Have you been comfortable so far? I know the accommodations are… odd,” Hermione said quietly as they walked to one side of Concordia.

“The suite is perfectly delightful, and you mustn’t begin fretting about such things now, my dear. Now, I must be honest. I am quite looking forward to the quidditch match. I think I will probably enjoy it thoroughly, and if Bulgaria or Britain makes it to the World Cup this year I would like you to secure me some tickets.”

Hermione grinned. “Absolutely. You know it’s not my cup of tea, but watching Viktor fly is both exhilarating and terrifying. And if either team is in the World Cup, I don’t see how I can avoid going. I’d be happy to invite people who will actually enjoy every bit of it. It’s held at the end of August, if you weren’t aware. It’s really a two week long festival, I think. I can alert you if either team makes it to the semi-finals. You’d be at Balmoral then, wouldn’t you?”

“Oh yes, but Charles and I could make our excuses for a day or three, I think. Charles,” she said, turning slightly to speak to him as he trailed behind with Neville and Ms. Pembroke. “Shouldn’t you like to see Britain or Bulgaria in the Quidditch World Cup next year?”

“Oh, of course! I’m sure that would be delightful.”

“There you have it,” the old monarch said with an amusing sense of finality. “We shall just have to cross our fingers that both teams do well. Now tell me about this trunk project you mentioned in passing.”

Hermione smiled and described her progress on the boutique hotel, the conundrum of no space for elves, and the possibility of getting a pre-made tent, but then reserving the expansion work for herself.

“I see, yes. The trunk goes in the tent, which serves as banqueting hall, kitchens, and service areas for the elves, and then downstairs through the trunk are the private rooms and lounges. So you could, in fact, travel in state without the cumbersome nature of travelling in state.”

“Exactly!” Hermione exclaimed, and then their conversation was derailed as they paused to watch acrobats tumble about in improbable ways. Eventually they strolled on and conversation picked up again.

“You mustn't avoid the opportunity to accept the hospitality of others, however, especially when you are in a different country or culture. First, it would be a terrible rudeness to do so, but second, I wouldn’t wish you to give up an opportunity to enjoy the small and beautiful things each place has to offer. It helps us to understand them just a little bit better.”

“I hate to be a burden, though,” Hermione said quietly.

“There are times for such considerations, and you are kind to think of it first. On a state visit, allow your hosts to provide for you. On a personal visit, negotiate to your heart’s content. Provisioning a monarch’s retinue can be draining on coffers, but I doubt you will ever use it to punish.”

Hermione was suddenly pulled between two warring thoughts: Tom Riddle staying at Malfoy Manor, and King Lear’s daughters negotiating his retinue smaller and smaller. She’d never fully and clearly realized that Tom would have stayed with the Malfoys to punish them, on top of everything else. But it certainly had been a punishment, if she understood the subtleties of what Draco and Narcissa had said now and then.

“...or would you?” Elizabeth asked after a long while had passed in thoughtful silence.

“Oh! Sorry. Thinking about Tom. He did that, I think.” Hermione corralled her kittens away from the small furry creatures in cages. She wasn’t sure what they were meant to be, but she had no intention of finding out. The wampus kittens were entirely too interested.

“Oh, Tom. What that I could have throttled him for you myself, my dear. Or had MI5 do it.”

Hermione smiled. It was tight and rueful.

Elizabeth patted her arm as they turned left through the lanes made up by the circus tents. “Now, now. What is past is past. And we shall see to it that such people do not go so far, again. We may be a small island in a cold sea, but we have influence far and wide, and I’m sure you shall as well.”

_ A small island in a cold sea.  _

The thought rang in her head as they continued on.

* * *

Luna was taking a tea break. Which also meant a pee break. It would only be seven minutes, depending on the lines at the portaloos. Two hours ago she’d already taken a tea-and-editing break for thirty minutes, and after the portaloo she’d do another thirty minutes of editing and frantic rewriting. It wasn’t for the interviews, which would be coming out later - it was for tomorrow’s edition of the Daily Quibble, which would have some of the amazing articles she’d written from interviews she’d done at the VIP reception on the night of the coronation. There was a regrettable lag time, as they simply didn’t have enough staff yet, but Luna was also quite certain that she had the inside scoop on the situation in China, to say nothing of the Commonwealth response. The in depth articles would wait for the Quibbler to come out next Saturday.

Luna returned from the surprisingly delightful experience of using the ‘Gotta Go! Portalavs’ to find that Draco’s house elf had already brought her a cup of tea and two ginger biscuits. And there was a small flower blossom on the saucer, just next to the biscuits. 

Cup and saucer in hand, Luna strolled idly for another three minutes, walking through the crowds of people while she sipped her tea and nibbled on her biscuits. She loved being with people. Among them, but a bit apart, she could observe. Normally people were a mix, really. Auras in all states. Embeddiments blocking clear communication. Karma directing interactions.

Today,  _ still,  _ everyone was so  _ present.  _ Auras remained remarkably clear. Very few embeddiments. Karma not really weighing in. And so many people still glowed, their inner light allowed to shine, undimmed.

Tea finished, biscuits gone, Luna walked back to the Quibbler Kiosk and Interview Booth. She put the empty cup and saucer on a back table for Shimmy to retrieve later and with both hands very carefully tucked the flower behind her ear and secured it with an extra pin into one of her braids.

Next up was one of the scheduled interviews, this one with the Matriarch of the House of Shafiq. Luna had tried, where at all possible, to secure interviews with each of the present matriarchs or patriarchs of the Great Houses, and she’d written to them all in advance of the festival in order to schedule them. There were some basic questions to each one of them, but they weren’t important in content. They were really to allow Luna to get a chance to see what sort of person they were. How much they lied to other people, how much they lied to themselves. That sort of thing. The rest of the interview would be spontaneous, and depend largely on the deeper responses to the first proforma questions.

She wondered what Madam Shafiq would be like during her interview, and if that might be different from how she would be a month from now.

Luna smiled when the stately woman approached, and it was a genuine smile. All of Luna’s were.

* * *

Draco was in the steam room, laughing.

Had you asked Draco last year, if he could ever imagine lounging shirtless with muggles in Hermione Granger’s ancestral steam room, laughing about arcane business practices and learning a boatload about the successful management of employees and colleagues, he might well have cursed first and asked questions later.

Mr. Siegfried Jackson, as it turned out, was a small business owner, small being fewer than fifty employees. Draco wasn’t entirely clear on just exactly what his company produced, but it was something in support of the non-magical medicinal potions industry, which was apparently quite large. But they had some useful patents, a mechanism which Draco understood quite thoroughly now, and they licensed out what volume they couldn’t handle in-house.

Fascinating stuff.

And Dr. Solomon Berhe wasn’t just a tenured professor at Oxford, he was also a department head, which meant he dealt with the bizarre politics of academia, of which he was quite happy to share the dramatic details.

It was better than theatre, honestly.

Which reminded him, he didn’t want to lose track of time.

But then Draco was remembering the brief sojourn to the market tent area to take another good look at the tents and trunks and various smaller bits of luggage and their attendant price tags.

“Honestly, gentlemen,” Mr. Jackson had said after they’d taken a few steps away. “I’m very interested, very interested indeed, but if I buy a vacation home, however portable, without Elsie’s input, she’ll throttle me in my sleep and I wouldn’t blame her.”

“Then we’d best retreat from the field, my friend. One must always have a healthy respect for one’s wife,” Professor Berhe said, clapping his hand on Mr. Jackson’s shoulder. “Has anyone considered trying out the Roman Bath? I must admit I am very interested in this.”

“Yes,” Draco said. “I’ve been in a few times. It’s quite relaxing.” He checked his watch. “I must be at the theatre at ten, but there’s time yet, if you’re up for it.” He was hedging his bets, still, but it seemed… easier, somehow. Like it wouldn’t be life or death if everyone voted him down. Of course, these were just normal people and it wasn’t death and destruction on the line. But it did seem like there was  _ something  _ on the line, even if Draco wasn’t quite savvy enough to figure out what it was.

Mother would have known, and as he thought about  _ that _ he mentally cursed his own inadequacies. Father probably would have known, and that just twisted the knife.

_ Luna would know.  _

Draco had smiled, then, for no discernible outer reason, but a great peace had descended and he could just enjoy himself again.

* * *

Elsie and Negalla were shopping, accompanied by Negalla’s little girl, Elsbet, who was still young enough to enjoy being wherever her mother was, patiently doing whatever her mother was doing. For the most part.

They had already spoken in veiled and extremely polite terms of the absolute  _ fervor  _ that had occurred with their respective husbands once they had retired the night before, and how they had both been quite relieved after all to have a private room away from their collective children.

They had already exchanged addresses and had been delighted to discover that they lived quite near one another after all - Negalla lived in Oxford, and Elsie just in Reading. It was just twenty minutes by train.

“Now, what do you think of the owls?” Elsie asked. “I’m not at all interested in getting Tommy one. I think a magical cat will push his own limits of responsibility. But for us. For the family. I feel like… oh, I don’t know. Like I just want more control over this situation. And not all of these merchants have normal addresses and none of them have a telephone, have you noticed?”

Negalla sighed. “No, I quite know what you mean. Magic is so useful in some ways, but the culture,” and here she lowered her voice to the barest whisper, “ _ is so archaic in others.”  _ Another sigh. “It’s very independent, you know? Much of the social infrastructure that is so helpful for travel and communication, it just doesn’t exist,” she said, her voice still quite soft. “No, I think getting an owl is totally inevitable, just in order to keep up.” She sighed a third time. “Birds. I never really liked birds.”

“I like birds, Mummy,” Elsbet chimed in as the conversation lulled.

“Oh?” Negalla asked, looking down at her daughter.

“I’ll take care of it,” she assured her mother with complete confidence.

“Hm,” her mother said in the tone of one who was not convinced. “You realize this is not your pet? This is a service animal that will belong to your father and I for the family’s convenience. But… I suppose if you  _ do  _ take care of it  _ very _ well, that would help convince your father and I that you are capable of having your own pet when you turn twelve, at the end of the year.”

“I can do it, Mummy, I can.”

“Hm,” Negalla said, seeming to consider things. Elsie kept her smirk inside. She did like to see good parenting in action. “Of course, if you forget about the owl and I have to take care of it instead… Then it will be very, very hard to convince your father that you should have your own pet when you are twelve, at the end of the year.”

Elsbet looked worried. “Will you help me, at first, Mummy?”

“Of course I will. And we will learn how to take care of the service owl together.”

They steered toward the queue for the animals, which was long, but moving rather steadily. Most people, Elsie noticed, were coming away with bird cages. They must have been doing quite a business here at the festival. Elsie privately wondered how many of the sales were to muggles and squibs who might not often have convenient access to the various wizarding quarters.

There was a large sign stuck just under the main logo of the animal shop that advertised ‘We Take GBP!’ which was a bit of a relief not to have to stand in several different lines just to make a purchase. All the talk in the line around them was of the small owl, slightly more expensive during the festival due to the surge in demand, but still quite a good bargain for not having to motor into London in order to purchase one special.

“What do you think, a small owl?” Elsie asked quietly to her companion who had finished sorting out the responsibility question with her daughter.

Another sigh from the poor woman and Elsie hid a smile. “No. In for a penny, in for a pound, that’s the saying, yes? We might  _ want  _ it to carry packages. We may as well get one of the large ones. I wonder if they have any books about this. Care guides, you know?”

It sounded like a splendid idea. More books, not fewer, was Elsie’s new motto.

“Well, I think a mid-size owl is probably the right idea. But I think one of those stands, you know? Not a cage. For a larger owl that would have to be a very large cage.”

“But how will you carry it back home?” Negalla asked.

“I won’t. It can fly on its own. If necessary, I’ll give it some mail to deliver and I’ll put my own address on it, and then all I have to carry on the train is the stand. As it is I’ll have to figure out how to get the thing in a taxi. I suppose it will fit easily enough, it will just be a squeeze with all four of us.”

“Yes, yes, I think that’s the right idea.”

And so the Berhes and the Jacksons picked out what were, actually, sister owls that had been hatchlings together. Elsie named the family owl Jill. Negalla named the family owl Guguti, which was Amharic for  _ owl.  _ After some very useful spells were performed on their behalf, they sent their owls off to hunt, put the stands over their shoulders and headed off to peruse the book kiosks, starting with the one that accepted GBP to see just how many books they would need to purchase this time.

* * *

Dudley had never watched Shakespeare and stayed awake for the endeavor, but a new friend at Uni had changed his mind in general about the usefulness and relevance of  _ the Bard,  _ and so he wasn’t totally opposed to going with his cousin to this one, particularly because it was supposed to be a comedy, and Jean Luc Picard would be in it.

Obviously not as the captain of a starship, but still.

Star Trek and Star Wars were the sorts of stories his father  _ did  _ approve of because they involved drills. Really, technology, rather than magic, and usually not as a part of the storyline, but he always made a point of identifying where and when a drill would be useful in any given scene.

Other fathers, Dudley discovered rather late in life, did not do this. Some fathers, Dudley had discovered after a little digging with friends at Smeltings, actually just let you watch a film for the first time without intense commentary. About drills.

Harry stopped to get a gigantic bag of kettle corn - Lord, it really was non-stop eating this weekend, and what the hell, but it was a special occasion, right? - and when the strolling seller tried to give it to him for free, Harry pressed payment on him and explained that he was really paying for the next customer.

As Harry continued to explain the plot of the comedy, Dudley realized it really could be set in space, but it probably wouldn’t be, not staged here in the heart of the magical world. But in his own mind, it was Jean Luc Picard, head of the Space Station Whereveritwas who was playing the ‘Duke’. (But really, the Captain.)

Apparently there were twins, separated in tragedy, each going by the same name, and now they were in the same place, therefore hijinks would ensue. The separation eventually would resolve. Parents reunited. Ends happily ever after.

“You think happily ever after really happens?” Dudley asked quietly as they made their way to the blue and green striped pavilion at the back of the lawn seating area. It was a tent sort of thing, and Harry had assured him they had seats reserved for them there.

“God, I hope so,” Harry murmured back and it was that same, small voice, a far cry from how he’d largely been today.

There weren’t huge amounts of people around them just now, but who knew what it would be like in the reserved seating area?

Dudley slowed his pace and tugged on Harry’s sleeve to do the same, just before he stopped entirely.

“Hey,” he said softly, holding his cousin’s steady green gaze. “I know it’s been…  _ impossibly  _ bad. And I get the idea that what you went through might have broken other people. And maybe it broke you, a little bit. But now’s the time when you get to regroup. Figure some things out. Maybe heal. Live on your terms. And you’ve all these people around you now, this whole big family with your sister and your wife. And I think, in time, you’ll be able to do what I’m doing now, and what I think maybe a lot of people come to, you know? When it comes to the past, take the good, leave the bad, and keep walking forward.”

That last bit was on signs all around his dorm, but Harry didn’t need to know that.

“And maybe that will take you a bit more work than it would take an idiot like me, but you’ll be better off for it, I think.”

Harry was nodding slightly, and he grinned a little. “I don’t know, you don’t sound like an idiot now,” he pointed out gamely. He took a deep breath and seemed to come back to himself. “Right. Let’s have happily ever afters, then.”

* * *

Ginny was being introduced to Harry’s cousin. The cousin who made his life a hell, along with his aunt and uncle, for eleven years. Arguably longer.

She’d been silent when he’d talked about it before. Silent, confomforting, supportive. She hadn’t expressed any of the incandescent rage she felt, worrying that it might be too much for Harry, that he might stop talking about it. But last night? They opened the belated wedding present from Cousin Dudley and Aunt Petunia and Ginny could barely restrain the overwhelming urge to smash all the crystal against the stone walls, grind it into small pieces, box it back up,  _ send it back _ , preferably in the middle of the day by owl, and follow it up with a series of howlers. She  _ didn’t  _ follow through with her  _ very compelling fantasy  _ but she did tell Harry. She had to. He’d noticed how upset she was.

“Don’t you get it, Harry? They  _ hurt  _ you! They were the ones who were supposed to take care of you and anyone with a modicum of human decency would have done a better job. They treated you like a hated  _ house elf. I hate them. _

_ “I hate them, Harry, for what they’ve done to you.” _

And Harry grinned.

_ “Why are you smiling?!?”  _ she had screamed.

“Because you love me,” he said quietly.

And then the anger receded, like an ebb tide flowing back in waves. He had held her then, kissed her, murmured how much he loved her, and Sweet Nemue, they had proceeded to make love over and over again that night, the topic of his upbringing tabled for the evening.

And now she was faced with her less-loved fourteenth cousin, Dudley Dunstan Dursley, and if this idiot could play nice, so could she. For now.

A momentary flash of memory came upon her, Luna’s voice.  _ Oh, no. They’re already cursed...entirely mundane, but most curses are...a curse of perspective...they see everything through fear...Harry had it too, at first.  _

Well. Harry was cursed. Hermione was cursed. Dudley was cursed. Harry and Hermione had managed to get over it and get on with life, and maybe this idiot could, too.

“Very nice to meet you,” she said, politely shaking his hand and lying through her teeth as she smiled.

He would have to prove himself, but she was willing to give him time to do it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I can manage to read it all to my husband tonight, I'll have a 20 page chapter of lemons and personal growth from our two favorite characters (well, okay, two of our favorite characters, as there are a lot of favorite characters), and I'll have it for you tomorrow.
> 
> Alternately, it make take two dinner-times to read through twenty pages. We just barely got through ten last night. So... soon. And very soon.


	54. Chapter 46: Wherein Hermione rides Viktor's broomstick.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just exactly as it sounds. This is truth in advertising here, people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to 400,000 words! Golly. I think I should have a party or something. I will say, this is one of those chapters that I've had written, with only a few minor edits, for months and months. Because writing ahead is fun.

The Dementors were utterly relentless in their attempts on goal; you’d hardly know it was an exhibition match. They were clearly out for blood. Still, the Inferi keeper was quite good even if the defensive team was having an off day and Viktor ended it after an hour or so.

And then after the moment of celebration with his team and the formal greeting of one team by another, Viktor did what Hermione had been confidently told was a  _ vertical mount  _ wherein he climbed his broom rather like she wanted to climb him, did some sort of showy corkscrew maneuver that she missed the explanation of, in Harry’s running commentary for the Windsors, and zoomed up to their box which comfortably sat everyone resident in The Curtain, and her in the first row, between her mother and Elizabeth, with Harry and Ginny right behind them with the Krums on one side and the Malfoys and Luna on the other of her brother and his wife.

And then he was right in front of her, shifting his goggles up to rest on his forehead, grinning and looking her in the eye before turning to Elizabeth and greeting her politely.

“What fine flying you have done, Viktor. You are a credit to your sport,” Elizabeth complimented him.

He thanked her politely and in general the whole box when everyone chimed in in one way or another, particularly his friends who were less restrained as it wasn’t  _ their  _ monarch sitting in the front row. While this happened, Hermione quietly shifted a snoozing Morning over to her mother’s lap. Midnight had already taken up residence with Ginny.

“It is tradition that the one who catches the snitch keeps it, and often it is given as a gift,” Viktor said to Elizabeth. He extended a hand to her and opened it, to reveal a quiescent snitch lying on his gloved palm. It unfurled its wings once, flapped them half-heartedly, and then wrapped them around again and seemed to go to sleep. “Will you accept this gift, Your Majesty?” he said on a smile.

Hermione looked over and saw Elizabeth’s small but clearly pleased smile in return. “What a lovely gesture. Thank you very kindly, Prince Viktor. I shall,” she said, plucking the golden ball out of his palm and holding it in her own.

“I hope you will forgive me for stealing my wife away,” he said, and he was so charming she couldn’t stand it. “- and I hope you all have a lovely time at the festival this afternoon. We look forward to seeing you at dinner.”

“Of course, my dears. Have a nice afternoon,” Elizabeth said, and then turned to Charles to remark on something Hermione didn’t catch, possibly having to do with the golden snitch in her hand. But that was quite beyond Hermione because she was in a staring match with her husband.

She was waiting for him to dismount, and escort her down the stairs like a civilized human being.

He was waiting for her to mount his distinctly  _ not a tandem broom  _ and zip away like some sort of sex fiends eager to indulge in the decadence of their Roman House of Pleasure.

“We could walk,” Hermione said gently and very quietly, aware of so very many sets of eyes on them, even if Elizabeth had given them a modicum of privacy,  _ bless her.  _

“Mm. My way is faster,” he said with a little grin, but then the grin fell away and she was trapped in the innocence and intensity of his gaze.

She trusted him. And she needed to show that trust in public.

Hermione took a deep breath. “Alright,” she murmured. “How do I do this?

“Stand up,” he directed and she did so. “Take a step toward me,” and that took her to the front of the box, and the railing, with her toes against the wood. “Turn around and face the back of the box.” When she did, suddenly everyone in the box was caught staring at her, and then fifty sets of eyes mostly had the good grace to look elsewhere. A few didn’t, including her parents.

“Don’t worry, Hermione!” said her mother who had never been on a broomstick. “He’s obviously good at catching things.”

Hermione bit her tongue and did not reply.

“Sit on the railing,” he instructed, and she did so ever-so-slightly, just resting the back of her bum on it, really.

“Turn toward me slightly,” he said, and he was  _ right there.  _ His left arm was coming around her waist. “Put your left arm around my neck, good. Get ready to scoot back on my lap. One, two, three,  _ scoot,” _ he said, and when he said scoot, he hauled her into his lap.

_ Oh, damn _ . He smelled really good.

“Are you alright?” he asked gently and so softly, his arms tight around her waist.

“Yes,” she breathed out, alright enough for the moment, though perhaps not alright in the larger scheme of things compared to times when she was genuinely doing well. She put her other arm around his neck and tightened her hold. “Let’s go.”

Viktor then  _ let go with one arm,  _ twisted and leaned into her so their torsos faced each other, sort of, grabbed the broom handle with one hand, and gently brought them up and away from the stands and to the clicking of many cameras and what Hermione had a sneaking suspicion was general applause. The broom gently, so gently rose and turned and soared over the spectators’ stands and Hermione focused on how grateful she was of Viktor’s care for her. He was being gentle and slow, and he smelled so good, and how on earth could a sweaty man be so appealing, was that some sort of evolutionary thing?

“You smell amazing,” she murmured as they flew slowly a hundred or so feet over the crowds between the quidditch pitch and the enclosure wall.

His laugh was an almost soundless rumble and shake of his chest that she could feel quite well, given the fact that she was clinging to it.

“Congratulations on a game well played, and won,” she added quietly, speaking directly in his ear. There might be a hundred feet between them and anyone else, but it was a hundred feet of clear air with no impediment.

“Mm,” he replied, and she could feel it, like some sort of rumbling purr in his chest, and she finally understood the whole point of sex on a broomstick, if only because it was where you happened to be when you really wanted sex. 

Hermione was silent then. There were many,  _ many _ things she wanted to say, but none she wanted overheard and reported in the paper tomorrow morning.

She wanted to tell him how wonderful he was. How safe she felt in his arms, even if she was on a broomstick. She wanted to tell him that she might be up for a little broomstick sex after all. She wanted to tell him to go directly to the former orgy room in the half of the New Palace they had warded for their own occasional use, alone, the half with the Roman Bath, his new weight studio, and yes, the room set aside for sex encouraged by red and white roses rather than compulsion spells with dreadful side effects.

She wanted to tell him how much she wanted to peel his clothes off of him layer by layer until she could finally lick the sweat off of him. 

She didn’t. She was silent. Waiting. Couldn’t this thing go any faster?

They soared high above the enclosure wall and then circled gently down around the inside of the enclosure just the once, gradually losing altitude and then Viktor was gliding in between the columns and past the red curtain that obscured the interior but parted as they approached, and then they were in their private love nest alone. Three of the four walls of red cloth glowed purple for just a moment and Viktor must have wandlessly used the locking spell Mory had shared with them.

She really needed to work on wandless, wordless spellcasting. Half the time Viktor didn’t even need to gesture. It was so impressive, and she was so jealous. 

Viktor groaned and leaned back and Hermione immediately kissed him. He groaned into the kiss and Hermione decided that maybe just this once sex on a broom could be more than just okay. She shifted a bit and broke the kiss.

“Help me straddle you,” she breathed into his lips and immediately he loosed his hold and leaned back a bit while helping her get her left leg between them and on the other side without kicking him in the abdomen. It wasn’t comfortable until she had her legs around his hips, ankles hooked together and her boots resting on the wood behind him.

Viktor muttered something and then her jeans, while still on technically, no longer had seams that were connected to anything. Her jeans were muggle and not charmed against such shenanigans as the seam split.

She pulled the top bits of her jeans away and out of her boots and cast them off to the side, leaving the bits and pieces she was sitting on where they were, for the moment.

Viktor, meanwhile, was kissing her neck and groaning how beautiful she was and how much he wanted her. One hand was supporting her back, and the other was kneading her hip. He still had his gloves on.

Hermione sighed and reached between their bodies. She unlaced the breeches he wore and he gasped as she wrapped her hand around him. He was hard and ready.  _ Oh, yes.  _

Ten rounds of sex the night before and less than twelve hours later her mouth was watering in anticipation.

She shoved her lacy knickers aside and relaxed her legs to get some more space, but the angle wasn’t quite right. “Viktor,” she began, and her voice came out strange and airy and high. “Can you lift me a bit?”

He did so immediately and when she swirled his tip around all the good places she started panting. He probably wouldn’t last long, and as this was one of his fantasies come to life, she couldn’t blame him in the least. But there was no good reason not to enjoy herself fully in the meantime.

“Stop,” he said, his voice sharp.

As he took a moment, she wondered if she’d mind sitting back on his broomstick as it hovered in the air, getting eaten out. Or being bent over it. There was the cushioning charm, after all. It would probably be remarkably comfortable, at least in some ways. And if they used her broom another time, with the tandem charm, that opened up a few more avenues for not entirely dreadful sex. No, no. She could live with a bit of regular broomstick sex, after all.

“Okay, go,” he growled before kissing her, and then groaned into the kiss when Hermione resumed rubbing his tip all over the head of her clit and associated areas. Then she notched it at her entrance and wrapped her arms back around his neck. She might have said something rather rough to him at that point, something along the lines of, ‘fuck me, Viktor,’ but her mouth was entirely occupied. In the end she just tightened the grip her legs had around him as he slowly slid in.

Viktor broke the kiss and Hermione watched in satisfaction as his head fell back and he gasped out the words, “ah, fuck, Myon,” over and over in a randomized order.

She squeezed him and was satisfied both with the feeling which sent shivers up her spine, and his response, because now he was moving her up and down his length by virtue of lifting her bodily and essentially letting her drop back onto his lap.

Just as she was wondering how long his arms and back could take that sort of abuse, it paused and instead he held her tightly to him as he shifted, unfolding his legs and hissing. She could feel the difference when he stood, holding her to him. He shuffled backwards slightly while the remnants of her jeans fell away and then he sunk down again. 

Hermione found herself gently laid back so that the small of her back was directly on top of the cushioning charm and Viktor cradled the back of her head in his hand against the hard wood of the broom handle.

He looked intensely into her eyes and internally her muscles spasmed against him. “Is this okay?” he asked, and in response she grinned and clenched down  _ hard. _

“Are you going to fuck me on your broom or not, Viktor Krum?”

His eyes narrowed and a thrill ran up her spine. His free hand shifted to wrap around her shoulder from behind. Just when she thought he was going to kiss her lips, he veered off and instead his lips trailed the shell of her ear. His voice was hard as he informed her that his name was Viktor  _ Pendragon. _

But then he did fuck her on his broom. 

It was sweet and fierce and it wasn’t doing quite as much for her as it was for him, mostly because she was concerned about falling the three feet to the floor, or the broom’s emergency brake disengaging, or whatever it was they had that made them float stationary, whereas of course this had been one of his fantasies for who knew how long.

Well, possibly something along the lines of four and a half years, if he’d been a particularly naughty boy and imagined importuning the girl who fixed his nose all those years ago, giving her a world class ride on his broom, as it were.

And hadn’t he admitted something exactly like that? That and instant erections when he saw her?

Clearly she needed more details. She wanted it all spelled out for her. After all, there could possibly be reenactments with a twist.

He came with a  _ fuck, fuck, fuck, Myon, oh, fuck  _ and she consistently liked the feel of it when he came inside of her; the momentary enlargement of his already reasonably sized member, the loss of control, his complete adoration of her _.  _ Hermione herself wasn’t anywhere near coming, but it didn’t bother her in the least. His recovery time, if yesterday was anything to go by, was quite short, at least in the beginning. And the fun times were just beginning.

She rubbed his back as he caught his breath.

“Can you sit upright on your broom for me?” she asked gently.

“Mm.” It wasn’t a groan that seemed to look forward to the prospect. And in fact he didn’t move for a long, long moment. When he started to shift, she unlocked her legs from around his waist and they both hissed when he slid out of her. She stood and he steadied her in that awkward moment when she wasn’t supporting herself but then neither was the broom. Then he sat back down on it, thunking down sideways and moaned a little bit, one more time. 

Another man might look ridiculous, dressed in full quidditch gear, sitting sideways on his broom, with a semi-flacid wet cock hanging out of his breeches. Viktor, still panting slightly with hooded eyes, and radiating desire, reminded Hermione more of a quality bar of dark chocolate, the sort with sea salt and caramel, that had only the top corner unwrapped. Clearly the job was half done and you just needed to go and unwrap the whole thing immediately because clearly  _ you were going to eat the whole thing in one sitting just as soon as the tea was ready. _

She looked at him and thought about it for a moment. She could do this the easy way, or she could do this the sexy way.

Well, what the hell. He was her husband, after all.

She sauntered up to him, or she tried to saunter, stood to the side facing the front of the broom, and then bent at the waist, all the way over. Her goal, two-fold. One, unbuckle his leg guards so she could unwrap her chocolate bar. Two, present her husband with her arse, bisected by the black lace of her thong.

He groaned loudly and she could feel the leather of his gloves on her naked bum and while the skin of his hands was better, the gloves were nice, too.

She unlaced the specialty shoes while she was down there as well, and was eventually able to remove the shin guards, shoes, and socks and toss them to the side, then she slowly came back up and stretched a little bit for good measure.

Hermione considered taking his jersey off to just do this all in her underwear and boots, but then, having her on his broom, in his jersey might work for him.

He hadn’t been wearing a helmet today, and his goggles had been pushed up on his forehead since he first approached the top box. But the first order was to remove the gloves, which she did, and tossed behind her on the growing pile. Then removing the forearm guards which were full of just as many buckles as the shin guards. Then she peeled his jersey off of him, and then the long sleeved undershirt beneath that.

Aah, bare chest. Sweaty, beautiful, strong bare chest with an enticing trail of hair down past his belly button leading to his cock which was not exactly spent anymore, though it was still wet.

She left the leather wand holster in place on his forearm and went for his breeches instead.

“Up,” she commanded, much like she had been taught to treat a broomstick, however much it hadn’t ever worked for her. It worked this time, and Viktor rose to his bare feet with sensuous grace.

She pulled his breeches down and then the under layer he wore as well, and tossed them both behind her. He was naked, save for his wand, and his other wand, and the goggles perched on the top of his head.

Hermione looked him in the eye and ordered him to put his broom at the right height to bend her over it.

One hand reached out over the broom, and it smacked into it. The other hand hauled her closer and put her within kissing range again. He nibbled at her lips and he told her how grateful he was that she was willing to play out his fantasies for him.

“Every one I can,” she promised, knowing he would do the same, when she figured out what she wanted that she hadn’t already gotten. “And when you’re done, I hope you’ve also fantasized about eating me out while I sit on your broom. Because if you haven’t at this point, I have.”

He grinned and kissed her again, then led her to the broom. As she gently bent over, she was quite pleased with the cushioning charm. A lack of anything better to do with her arms led her to reach back and grab the broom. It might not be comfortable for  _ too  _ long, but as this was round two, he wouldn’t last that long. Not if she spoke to him at the same time.

She could feel his bare hands on her backside now, and on her back underneath her shirt. They made her shiver, they felt so good. 

“Ungh, Myon. Do you know how long I have wanted to fuck you in my jersey?” His hands roved over and over her bum as he apparently revelled in the sight.

“Mmm, four and a half years? Roughly?”

_ “Yes!”  _

She could feel him lining his cock up and rubbing the head around, as she had begun to love.

“I was such a bad boy,” he admitted, and then slammed himself in and of course he went deeper in this position, and it left Hermione gasping. “But I still wanted you. I could calm myself during the day, I could be a gentleman like I was raised, but then at night,  _ oh, God, at night, there was no escaping it, no glossing over it, and it was all there laid out in my dreams,”  _ he said thrusting into her rhythmically, and the position was good, the cock was great, but the  _ words, Sweet Jesus, his words…  _

“What? What did you dream? Tell me? Please, tell me,” she begged, wanting him to continue speaking.

“Oh, my own Myon. I wanted you. Your heart. Your soul. And very explicitly your body. I wanted to suck on your breasts. I wanted to eat out your pussy. I wanted to take you on every flat surface I saw. I wanted to know what your thighs felt like. I wanted to know if you would like to suck my cock. I wanted to kiss you, everywhere. I wanted to make you moan, to make you cry out my name.”

She moaned, and he paused. “Viktor,” she breathed. “I love your cock, and I love your words. Don’t stop.”

Viktor breathed heavily for a moment as he pumped into her. “Ungh, Myon. You scramble my brain. I have no poetry. No eloquence. All I can think about is your lusciousness. The shape of your ass. The feel of your legs. The perfection of your belly. The feel of your hips beneath my hands. The way your nipples harden. How sensitive the bottom of your breasts are. The feel of your hands on my skin. How you hold me tightly inside of you. Your lips, pulling on my ear. Your teeth, oh, Myon, your teeth biting my neck, my shoulders, my arms, my nipples. The way your mouth tastes. The way your skin tastes. The way your pussy tastes.”

And here his words ended, or at least devolved.

The pounding got harder, faster.

Hermione keened. She was closer than she would have thought.

“Fuck, Viktor, oh, fuck. Harder?  _ Harder?”  _ she begged.

He was chanting her name, Myon.

“Yes! Yes, I’m here. I’m yours. I’m finally yours  _ so fuck me harder!” _

He came and it was so amazing and she was  _ so bloody close  _ and then the thrusts slowed and she swallowed a scream of moral outrage.

She shoved him off of her and spun around to sit down on the broom. The height of it seemed about right and as she hopped up, discovered it was fine. She spread her legs, steadied herself with one hand on the broom, and with the other pointed at her pussy. “ _ Make me come!” _

His look changed from surprise and confusion to relief and something perhaps approaching the worship of idols, considering his religious outlook. He fell to his knees and dove in face first, groaning and pulling the broomstick closer to him. He coaxed one leg then the other over his shoulders and she had to admit that perhaps for this one position a broomstick trumped all other sex toys. They would clearly need to keep hers in the bedroom. Hell, he could be sitting comfortably in a chair doing this.

And very likely he would be for many, many years to come.

He had a thumb on the head of her clit and a thick and eloquent tongue speared in her until he had drunk her clean, and then it was two thick, rough fingers inside of her making scissory motions while he sucked the head of her clit  _ hard  _ and then, then she could come.

It was her first orgasm of the day, if one didn’t count all the orgasms between midnight and eight a.m. of which there were several.

Still, there came a point when she was uncomfortably over stimulated and that was the point she pushed his head away and mumbled for him to stop. He shifted her around until he rose up through her legs and she could wrap them around his waist and hold on, deeply tired if only for a moment.

Hermione realized dimly that he had mounted the broom again and held her tight as he flew them from the room they were in to the room he wanted to be in, red curtains parting before them. He laid her out on a heated stone bed, which meant, she dimly realized, that they must be in the Hot Bath room, and proceeded to feed her. More strawberries for her, more steak for him, but they both appreciated every morsel and before she knew it she had her energy back. She padded to the loo and returned to find her husband getting out of the hot pool. She was interested in following him until she realized his intention to go jump briefly in the cold pool which was absolutely out of the question for her at this point. She got in the hot pool instead and waited for him to come back. Which he did, shortly.

They relaxed in the water together, his muscles needing it perhaps more than hers, though she had had rather more athletic sex in the last twenty-four hours than she’d had  _ ever _ , so it was still quite welcome.

“You know,” she said as they were relaxing in the quiet. “It turns me on incredibly when you talk to me during sex.”

“Yes. I noticed this,” he agreed smugly.

She splashed him with a flick of water and continued on to her point. “And I love hearing the sexy things you think, and how you see me. And it does turn me on right good to hear you refer to yourself as ‘such a bad boy’, but you don’t… you don’t really think that, do you?”

A single eyebrow rose.

She waited for words to be forthcoming.

“Do you think I would have said it, if I didn’t?” he asked.

She swam over to him and put her hands on the tops of his shoulders. She looked him dead in the eye. “You are the best man I’ve ever met. Viktor, you are the very best man I’ve ever known. And I  _ do not believe _ that you were ever such a bad boy.”

He held her eye contact, but shook his head slightly.

“No. I’m not budging on this one,” she stated clearly.

He sighed and closed his eyes.

“No. Your beautiful wiles have no effect on me, now. I’m right,” she said, “and I’m happy to wait for you to admit it.”

He laughed slightly, and opened his eyes.

“Go on,” she said. “Lay your case out before me. Argue it, if you like. And when you’re done, I’ll prove you innocent. Proceed.”

“Hermione, it is obvious.”

“Nope. Not to me. Make it plain. Use many words.”

He sighed and closed his eyes again, squeezing them shut this time. “You know,” he admitted slowly, “I find this embarrassing to discuss, outside of sex?”

She raised one eyebrow. “Would you prefer we continue this conversation while I suck you off?”

“That might help,” he admitted with a grin.

“Up. Sit on the edge,” she ordered.

He complied and she stood between his knees, playing with his thighs, and his balls, and his cock which was not yet hard. She wibbled it about between her fingers, momentarily distracted at how different it could be when it was, well, travel-sized. When she put her mouth on the tip, sucking it through her lips over and over, he sighed and began to speak.

“Myon, we met when I was seventeen. I had an adult job, adult responsibilities, and if I hadn’t wanted to eventually pursue a mastery in blood magic, I would have quit school the year before. I was a formidable wizard in my abilities before we even considered the fact that I was also gainfully employed. I was ready to take over my father’s estate whenever he decided he wanted to retire and I wanted to retire from sport and go raise roses and breed dogs and find a level-headed witch who didn’t particularly like quidditch to settle down with. Despite the fact that I was not quite seventeen and an adult in the eyes of the government, I felt like one. I was treated like one, from my coach to my parents. I had mostly older friends who had been adults for sometime.

“When I met you in the top box, I made many assumptions. You looked young in the way many, many witches pay through the nose to look until they are well into their fifties or sixties. You were confident. You were strong. You were caring. And when you pulled a wand on me in public to heal me, I knew you were an adult, as this is not the action of a child.”

She grinned up at him and shrugged.

“When I discovered you were still in school, I assumed you were in your final year, like me. It was awkward, especially if you turned out to be the school’s champion, but okay. And the champions would maybe be thrown together more often, so that was okay, too. And had you been of age, and had it been a fair tournament, you would have been chosen, my powerful darling, and you would have beat us all. As it turned out, your entire life had been a tournament rigged against you, and you still won.

“When I discovered you had three full years of schooling left, which would have made you fourteen or fifteen at the most, I was horrified at myself for fantasizing about a child.”

Hermione had some serious issues about what he had just said, but she wanted him to say it all before she brought in the actual logic and reason.

“And it was true that fourteen is the age of consent for Bulgaria, but we were not in Bulgaria we were in Britain where the age of consent is sixteen. And even so in Bulgaria one risks censure, courting a fourteen year old, even with her parent’s permission. It is  _ not  _ the done thing. 

“And yet you were magnificent. I could not look away. I could not train my thoughts. I could not rein in my desire. I could not redream my dreams. My heart was already gone, and so I vowed to make up for it all by waiting to court you, waiting until you had grown up. But that only made things worse for me. A perfect gentleman on the outside. A seething sack of hormones on the inside. Somehow with the thought of courting you properly, securing your hand in marriage, it gave something inside of me license to imagine  _ such _ debauchery. By the time I put my hands around your waist as we danced at the ball I had made love to you in my mind a thousand times, and fucked you crudely a thousand more. And you, still a child.

“No. I should be ashamed of myself. I  _ am  _ ashamed of myself. And yet by the grace of God we are here, and you love me, and we have married. And I should not be ashamed of what we do now, this beauty and pleasure we have together.  _ I should not be…” _ he trailed off meaningfully.

Hermione let up and worked him slowly with her hand, kissing random portions of his anatomy she could reach.

“Subjectively speaking, I do understand your point. And before we look at the objective view, let’s look at my subjective view, shall we? This is year four of my schooling, which means I’ve already survived two years of direct attack from Tom and one year of indirect hell because of Tom’s madness. And in all of this, none of the adults around us could really keep up, which is patently ridiculous so we’ll put that aside for a moment. But what it meant was that we had to grow up quickly. And as much as Harry has some distinct issues with a savior complex because he’s actually had to save everyone over and over and over again, I have had some significant issues having to play the role of responsible adult to people only nine months younger than me and age be damned, it’s made me feel like an adult. Viktor, for better or for worse, I felt middle aged from the moment a mountain troll nearly killed me, six weeks after I turned twelve. That was the first time I faced death, and it was certainly my worst showing at it. You faced a dragon when you were seventeen, in a controlled atmosphere with dragon handlers watching on, having had time to prepare, with  _ spectators _ for God’s sake. I faced a dragon when I was eighteen when I broke into Gringotts and believe you me, it was put there to eat me. But by the time I faced the dragon you know what? It was just one more fucking thing on one more fucking day. I didn’t expect to get through the war alive, but neither did I expect to die that particular day.”

Viktor stilled her hands on him, and slid back down in the pool to face her.

She took a deep breath. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for this to turn into a round of I Was More Adult Than You Were. My point is that by the time you came along, yes. I really enjoyed the moments when I could just be a student because I loved learning, and I still do. It’s possible I always will. And though it was hard for me to believe that you were interested in me, once I could take that on, I loved it. I loved your attention. I loved feeling my heart race when our eyes met. I loved… being in love with you. And there was a certain thrill because you were  _ older.  _ But, and please don’t take this the wrong way, because I adore you, and I don’t want to hurt your feelings. You still felt like a boy to me. A manchild at best. Terrifically more polite than anyone else I’d met at school. Kind. Powerful. Exciting. But Viktor, you hadn’t finished growing into your limbs, yet. And yes, you had an adult job and that was a bit bizarre, and yes you had groupies, but so did Harry, so that was somewhat normal to me. And when I compared you to Harry and Ron, there was no comparison. You were like a prince standing next to peasants. But I came to understand that that was because you were dedicated to your studies, wildly intelligent, wonderfully powerful, and deeply compassionate, and added unto that you had excellent manners. Seeing you was like seeing the sun on a cloudy day, Viktor. And perhaps because you were three years older than them and two older than me it was unfair of me to compare you to them in my head, but you also outshone the other seventh years I knew. But I didn’t see that as a product of you being more adult. I saw that as you being you. And… well, I’ll just say it. You felt like more of a kindred spirit to me than anyone else I’d met and known well. Okay, I downplayed that a bit. Oh, gosh, this is really hard to say. Okay, I feel like a selfish bint here, but total honesty: When you were around, it honestly felt like you were the only one worth my time. I mean, friends being friends aside, and it’s not like I’ve ever tossed them over, only recently have I cultivated friends who value thinking. I’m not sure why it took me this long. And I only did it because I desperately needed it, which doesn’t speak highly of me and my motivations, however much I enjoy their company and their friendship. But before this year, Viktor? You were the only one worth my time. And I didn’t cultivate you before this year, either. But not because you were some adult figure. It’s because you lived in Bulgaria.

“So that’s my subjective view. But, and no, wait, I’m not done yet. Let’s consider the objective view.

“In Muggle Britain, one is an adult with some rights at the age of sixteen, which includes sexual consent, and all rights at age eighteen. In Wizarding Britain one is a witch or wizard with rights the moment one has a wand, presumably at eleven, and one is an adult at aged sixteen, or whenever one passes one’s OWL’s, which happen at the end of the fifth year. That’s when we’re allowed to get apparating licenses, and licenses to try for animagi status. And yet, one is still in school until one is nearly or already eighteen, so there are plenty of grey areas to be had.

“So objectively, by British standards you were already an adult, but not with all rights and responsibilities, but you were still in school, and so treated as a minor, and it was a social contract that despite a job, you agreed to. And objectively, by British standards, I was still a child, though on the cusp of adulthood, only one year away. And I was still treated as a minor, as you were, and I still abided by the social contract, as you did.

“And my darling husband, part of the social contract of being a minor in school is that you fancy other minors in school. And an important part of the social contract, whether we personally agree with it or not is to fancy them without actually having sex with them. And so we all did.

“And while there weren’t many students dating with huge age gaps, you were permitted to take me to the Yule Ball, and I think that’s a pretty good indicator that we were allowed to fancy each other. That it was still within the social contract. Yes, you had the right to consent to have sex and I didn't, but we _didn't have_ _sex_. It was not a morally grey area. You were in the right, and so was I.

“Did I fancy you, as a student in my school on a foreign exchange? I absolutely did. Did you fancy me, as a student in a school you also attended? Yes you did. And your fantasies were a little more detailed, but you’re also a boy. By the next summer I was masturbating to the memory of that moan/groan thing you do, and the way your voice goes low sometimes when you call me Myon, though I wouldn’t have admitted it to anyone.

“And as for our first meeting we met stripped of all those expectations, those social contracts, almost entirely. I knew you were an athlete. You knew I was a spectator. You had no idea I couldn’t stand quidditch, or what year I was born in. I had no idea you were so intelligent, so gifted, so kind. But the first thing, the very first thing I felt when I saw you was wanting to go to you. To help you. You looked wounded, physically and emotionally crushed, and you were  _ actively  _ bleeding, and no one was helping you. And you. Total honesty. What did you think when you first saw me?”

His arms had been around her for some time, and her hands on his chest as they spoke. It was very comfortable, just standing in the deep warm water.

“First thought or first emotion?” he asked.

“Mmm, both,” she decided.

“Emotions flooded eventually through the defeat. First, like a magnet reorienting to North, like a very deep awareness. Then, desire. Thoughts? Who are you, and how do I get to spend more time with you?”

“What that tells me is that you’ve always treated me like an equal, and I’ve always treated you like an equal.”

“Go back to this social contract. What is this? I think I understand, but make it plain for me.”

“Right. So a social contract is a way to describe the way we act and react when we’re being  _ appropriate _ , but it’s often behavior that isn’t actually regulated by laws, or behavior that isn’t part of any contractual obligation anywhere. And so sometimes a social contract is something we all agree upon and abide by, and other times we rebel against it and make our own because we’re asked to abide by it, but we never actually got to negotiate it to begin with. Which is why communication is so important, so we can be clear on what we need, and what we expect from others, and whether or not we or they can abide by the clearly defined needs of others. Because by your own admission, Viktor, you were holding yourself to a higher standard within your social contract that you held everyone else, or than anyone else held you. And I and Harry do the same thing, just in different contexts. Harry routinely expects that he is the one who will have to die for everyone, and he never, ever expects anyone else to have to make that sacrifice, or want to make that sacrifice, and if they do, he feels it’s his fault because it should have been him. Because in his social contract, he’s the savior of the world. And unfortunately, way too many people buy into that same social contract and reinforce its truth for him. And in a way, it’s total bullshit. And in a way, it’s painfully true.”

“And what is in your social contract?” Viktor asked, his hands making little patterns at the small of her back.

Hermione sighed. “I’m the only one who is prepared. I’m the only one who has thought it through. I’m the brains, the rational mind, the voice of reason. I’m not the one who won the war. I’m the one who made sure we won the war. I’m the one who figures it out first. I am relentless and unyielding and I will do  _ whatever it takes.”  _

“So, you are the mastermind? And no one else is allowed to be the mastermind?”

She smiled ruefully. “I think very few bothered to try. With Headmaster Dumbledore scheming his schemes, doing everyone’s thinking for them and sharing the whole picture with no one else, and I mean no one else, everyone bought into  _ his  _ social contract.”

“Nearly everyone,” Viktor amended, evidence to the contrary in front of him.

“And your social contract?” Hermione asked, a lopsided smile on her face.

He sighed. “I am the adult.” He sighed again. “But when I left Hogwarts that year, I was just a broken child that my father had to piece together.”

“Tom ruins everything he touches,” Hermione pointed out. They stood in silence for a while, just holding each other. “Returning to my original argument,” she said gently. “All teenagers are sacks of raging hormones. That’s part of being a teenager. And I get why they try to keep us from having rampant sexual encounters whenever the whim takes us. We’d hardly get any studying done, first off, and that’s why we’re there. Also, we’d have to be parents while still children ourselves, and thus perpetuate our worst habits and tendencies before we get a chance to grow out of them. Also, sex is so intimate. I mean, I don’t judge people who have a bunch of it with a bunch of different people before they find their life partner, but when I think of who I’ve fancied and think of it now, I’m totally grossed out by the prospect of having fancied them much less snogged them, for those I did, and I'm thrilled I never shagged them. And okay, for the kissing it’s just you and Ron and very briefly Cormac, but still. Ick.

“All this boils down to this: By one contract you were a child, by another you were an adult. And so when you were in the adult realm, you were treated like an adult, and I’ll say probably acted like an adult. And when you were in the child realm, you were treated like a child, and you acted like a child insofar as you abided by the child’s rules. That you were hyper responsible and in those ways acted like an adult doesn’t mean that you also took for yourself adult privileges, and this is key. You took adult responsibilities without taking also the adult rights and privileges. You abided by the child’s rights. This is key because children don’t actually have the right to have consenting sex with other people when they want to. Adults do.

“And so, my beautiful, thoughtful, moral man, you were never in the wrong. You were never a bad boy, no matter how much you imagined having sex with your girlfriend, no matter how much you masturbated with thoughts of her going down on you. And if you hadn’t been as in love, if you hadn’t been as dedicated, Viktor, my darling Viktor, if your fantasy life had been tame and uninspiring, we wouldn’t be married right now.”

She let that sink in with a bit of silence and put her head on his chest. She couldn’t hear his heartbeat, exactly, but she could feel it like a tiny shiver in his chest and through her cheekbone.

“I think I see your point,” he said quietly and slowly. “I will consider changing my opinion on this. But it has always felt so wrong, so tainted, and I am not sure that even if I want to this will be a thing I can let go of easily.”

“Well, you know, alternately, I’m happy to tie you to the bed. Gently, this time. But I’d really rather do that playfully, in fun, and not as an actual punishment because you genuinely feel ashamed of who you were and what you felt. Because I have no desire to punish you, Viktor. You’ve done nothing wrong. You are wholly innocent, and I want you to feel that as strongly as I know it to be true.”

“I have done nothing wrong,” Viktor whispered. “I am wholly innocent.”

“You have done nothing wrong,” she agreed. “You are wholly innocent.”

His breath shuddered against her, and she couldn’t tell if he was crying or not. “You have done nothing wrong, and you are wholly innocent,” she said again. And then she said it again, and again, and again, and again, still cuddled up to his chest, her arms around him, now.

“I have done nothing wrong,” he said with quiet intensity, “I am wholly innocent.”

She agreed and there was silence between them again.

“If I was not a bad boy, as I have so often thought, then… how do I think of this time in my life?”

“Mmm, if I had to label it? I’d say you were in the first throes of love and lust, and it seems from all you’ve said that it totally blindsided you much like a tsunami would an unprepared surfer.”

“Mm. Is not very flattering image, Myon.”

“I don’t know. I think there’s poetic possibilities in you, drowning in lust. I’m certainly feeling inspired.”

At that his hands started moving, rubbing and skimming over and swirling around all of her good spots. At some point Hermione realized that to be totally level with his face would require very little effort on her part, and so she climbed him easily in the water and kissed him gently at first, and then ferociously, until he turned her around and lifted her out of the water until she sat at the edge of the pool. He spread her knees and feasted on her pussy, and her sighs echoed between the stone ceiling and stone floors. She clutched gently at the back of his head as his hands caressed her thighs.

It would take a while going at this pace, she thought, for her to orgasm, but to hell with orgasm right now. It just felt good. Comforting, loving, lovely, and good.

He surfaced in the due course of time. “Drowning in lust. I still am, you know.”

“You think so?” Hermione countered. “Because it seems to me you’ve learned to surf the wave.” She scooted backwards several feet as she did so, but kept her legs open to him.

He lifted himself out of the pool, his palms on the edge and Hermione watched with her own wave of lust cresting as the hot water streamed off his body. He crawled toward her, as he had on the bed last night and she didn’t really know herself if this was drowning in lust, or if it was surfing the wave.

“Maybe. Sometimes,” he conceded before he crawled right over her open and inviting body and sunk down inside of her. They both sighed at the feeling of reconnection and he moved slowly and gently within her.

“So much time,” he murmured, “so many fantasies, so much shame.”

“Sounds like you need to rewrite each one,” Hermione said breathlessly. “Viktor was a good boy, drowning in lust for the woman he loves. He does not think of others, only her. What a compliment that is to her. His mind is consumed with her, yet he still manages not to get eaten by a dragon, he still manages to win quidditch games. What a compliment that is to him. Viktor was a good boy. Viktor was  _ such  _ a good boy.”

“Is that what you thought at the time?” He asked, grinding his hips into hers as he bottomed out.

“You know it wasn’t. I was woefully ignorant and off my game. No one was trying to kill me that year, so I missed many things. That’s something for you to watch for. When my death isn’t imminent I get complacent and just want to study all the time.”

“I am happy to provide healthy distraction,” he said, emphasizing the last two words with singular thrusts.

She sighed and moaned his name. “But, oh, Viktor. I can see more clearly now. You were such a good boy, in so many ways. And while sex was off the table for me then, I would have loved to have been kissed by you. Held by you. I dreamed of holding your hand and sneaking the odd kiss, but realistically speaking, and I have been considering this more since we last discussed it, I would have been open to some quite extensive snogging sessions where everything was game so long as the clothes stayed firmly in place. And you know, you didn’t rush me. Not in the least. No matter how much you wanted on your own. And that’s part of what makes you a good boy in my eyes. You never rushed me. You took such care of me.”

“I would have kissed you after the Yule Ball, if you would have welcomed it. Well, and if I could have found you. You disappeared, if you’ll recall.”

“Ah, foiled by my friend being an idiot. Well, I no longer associate with him, so that’s done then.”

“Mm.” It wasn’t one of his pleased and sexy grunts.

“How would you have gone about it? How would Mr. Krum, the Durmstrang Champion, gone about kissing Miss Granger, Gryffindor Know-it-All?”

“Feels moot as we are having sex,” he pointed out.

“Humor me,” she asked.

He rolled them over. “Ride me.”

He propped his feet firmly on the floor just a little ways away from his own bum, so his knees were high and supporting her, and he was also able to lift her up whenever he felt like it. Still, she found a reasonably comfortable position, and then wandlessly accioed one towel each for between her knees and the stone floor, wondering how he’d managed when he was on top. When she was finally comfortable, she did ride him and he closed his eyes. She wondered if he wasn’t going to play along, until he finally spoke.

“We would dance the last dance together, and I would ask if you wanted to take a walk in the rose garden together before the evening ended. If you said yes, at the end of the dance I would kiss your hand and place it on my arm and I would walk out the door of the great hall with you, and down the staircase and we would go out into the night. And I know we would not be alone there, chaperones and other children, but it might be beautiful, the stars and the roses and you, and in the dark I might have the courage to ask you for a kiss. It might also be cold, and so I could take off my cloak and wrap it around you, and so all the rest of the year it would smell like you, and I would drown a little every time I put it on.”

“And if I gave you permission for a kiss?”

“Then I would ask if you knew a good place, a private place. Because rose garden was not that place. And what would you have said?”

She rocked on his hips and thought about it.

“You know, I think I would have asked you to meet me during lunch the next day in Greenhouse Three. Because there really was no convenient place that wasn’t tightly parolled. And while the back stacks of the library would be good for a quick kiss, and that might have sufficed us in other moments, if we wanted a decent snogging session I’d have to borrow Harry’s invisibility cloak, which he would have loaned me, or we’d have to get creative about it. And Greenhouse Three would have done for that season. So what would you have done with thirty minutes of entirely alone time with me the next day? Actually?”

She rocked on his hips as he closed his eyes again, moaning slightly with a tiny smile on his face.

“I would have brought oranges. And fed you slices. And kissed you in between bites. I would have bitten half a slice and then offered you the other half, and then kissed you, so that every time you saw me in the great hall eating an orange you would know that I was thinking of kissing you.”

“And when the oranges were gone?” she asked.

“Clean up with wandless magic to impress you.”

“Still impresses me, you know,” she pointed out, rolling her hips.

He grinned at her and a single eyebrow quirked just once.

“And how would you have kissed me? How would you have initiated it all?”

“I wait outside of the greenhouses. I get there early and wait. When you come, you guide me in. Are there benches?”

“Some potting benches, yes. None too clean.”

“Clean wandlessly. Invite you to sit with me. Probably get very nervous and not be able to speak for a little bit.”

“Well, then. I’d have to turn to you and look up at you. Would that have helped?”

“Mm. Yes and no. Better position to kiss you, but still lost in your eyes, nervous I might ruin it and you never speak to me again.”

“I’d probably just be direct. Say something like, ‘I thought you wanted to kiss me?’”

“That would help a great deal, yes. So then I would lean in. I would be terrified to touch you in any other way, but I would lean in and down and touch your lips with mine, so softly, so gently, maybe as many as three times to test my luck.”

“Well, I would be just as likely to put my arms around your neck as anything else somewhere in those three chaste kisses I’d just received.”

“Mm. Encouraging,” he murmured, thrusting up into her just once before focusing again on their shared fantasy. “Then the kisses might not be so chaste after that. I might kiss your cheekbones.” Then he raised a hand and trailed it down her jaw and past her ear, down her neck to where a collar might be. “And over, and across, and by the time I was hiding in your neck I might have the courage to nibble a little bit right here,” he said, scratching at the area just under her ear.

“Ooh, I would have gasped and tightened my grip on you.”

“With your gasp, I would look up. I would be worried. You would be able to see it very clearly on my face.”

“And then I would have kissed you. And it probably would have started out chaste, but with the inspiration of nibbling, I might have done just a bit. Maybe to your lower lip. And if I nibbled a bit, well, then I might sooth it over with my tongue afterwards.”

“I would have met you tongue for tongue and tried not to make any noises. But I might have groaned.”

“Oh, and if you had. Mmm. We would have had a right proper snog before you brought out the oranges.”

“And if all of this had happened, and we had snogged in Greenhouse Three and kissed as often as we dared in the back stacks of the library, what would have happened when I left?” he asked, his hands massaging her hips as she languidly rode him.

She leaned over and braced her hands on the stone floor by his shoulders and looked him straight in the eye. “Then I would have written more, and pined more, probably never dated Ron, Cormac would have held no appeal at all, and it would have ripped my heart in two, but I still would have snubbed you at Bill and Fleur’s wedding.”

He met her gaze and his hands soothed her back. “Then I am glad I did not ask for a kiss that night. I’m glad I could not, and so lost my nerve afterwards. Your heart had enough burdens on it, and I would have wanted only to give you strength and aid, whether I was near or far.”  
Somewhere along the line they had lost the sexy, though he was still hard and she was still wet.

Hermione just rested on top of him, her chest against his, her legs folded up on the side of his hips and her arms folded up comfortably at the sides of his torso.

“Is this okay? I’m not squashing you?” she murmured.

“No,” he assured her. “This is good. Very comfortable. Though,” he raised an arm and another fluffy white towel floofed into his hand from across the room and he shoved it under his head. “Ah, perfect.”

His hands returned to his gentle caress of her back, soothing and calming her in ways she hadn’t realized she needed. And when he cast a warming charm over her it gave her more than just warmth.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

They lay in the quiet and periodically Hermione would squeeze her muscles around him and his breathing would become momentarily audible.

“I love you so much,” Hermione whispered, though it was still loud in the red chamber of stone and water. “No matter how we got here, I’m glad we’re here. Even though it hurt. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else, with anyone else, Viktor. Thank you for waiting for me.”

He held her gently and thrust into her as she was curled up on top of him. She hissed and groaned.

“Was worth it,” he whispered, still thrusting gently. “We are together now, forever. And have learned valuable lessons on the way.”

“Like what?” she gasped out, happy that she hadn’t ruined the moment entirely and accidentally put them off sex for some unforseen amount of time.

“Patience, definitely.” He thrust and she groaned and wriggled on him.

“And insight,” he said, another thrust, another withdrawal.

“Forbearance and maybe wisdom,” and this time when he thrust she sat back up with a whimper and slowly rocked with his thrusts. They were silent after that, or at least the conversational words had come to an end. They still moaned and gasped and when they each got closer to their peak, Hermione massaging her own breasts and lost in pleasure, Viktor watched with wide eyes. 

“How close are you, Beautiful?” he gasped out.

“Mmm, I don’t know,” she demurred, writhing on top of him.

He flattened his legs out behind her. “Ride me. Just for yourself. Let me watch you come."

One hand left her breasts and sought out the head of her clit and Hermione tossed her head back with her eyes closed.

When she felt her neglected breast enveloped in a large, warm, calloused hand she grinned, eyes still closed. “Mmm, I thought you were just watching.”

“Myon, your skin is impossibly soft,” he responded, as if that explained things. Which perhaps, for him, it did.

“Well, then at least you could get over here and suck on them,” she pointed out, rather wanting a bit more stimulation at the moment, and it might just put her over the edge.

Viktor  _ growled  _ and his whole body curled in. Hermione leaned back a little to give him more space and then held his head with her free hand, as both of his were now on her. His hands were exquisite and his mouth was almost perfect. Almost.

“Harder,” she whispered, slamming down on him now and grinding, grinding, grinding her hips around on his. Her fingers clenched in his hair when he sucked a tiny bit harder, but not nearly hard enough.

“More, more, more, more, more,” she chanted as she ground on him.

Finally it was perfect and she swallowed her scream, the orgasm coming in wave after wave. She clenched down on him in an entirely involuntary manner that made him moan around her breast in his mouth and she could feel - ah,  _ ah -  _ his orgasm chasing after hers.

So perfect. So perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the love and the comments and the expressions of joy you've shared with me as you read along. I absolutely love reading, responding, and also sharing them all with my husband.


	55. Chapter 47: Wherein dinner is served.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the first of January and the only formal dinner served at Cair Paravel during The Coronation Festival. We see Grandmere hasn’t lost it, Ginny has the best ideas, and Harry is an opportunistic mofo. Mind the crashbar as it comes across low on your lap, and get ready as this emotional rollercoaster gets underway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ::waves:: Hi! Thanks for your patience. I took a month off and waited for a broken finger to heal before doing hella typing, and now I'm back, just in time to counterbalance a bit of crazy US election angst. Here. Have an extra-long chapter.

Ginny Potter looked at the gigantically long table dressed for a formal dinner with a deep sense of satisfaction. There were no ornate decorations. There were no triumphant centerpieces. There were, occasionally, low bowls of the Krum’s ubiquitous white rose. But for being everywhere, they were too wonderful and too bloody  _ calming  _ to ever be taken for granted.

But the table  _ was  _ set with the very useful gifts from the Windsors - the china, plate, and crystal that had only just been given upon the occasion of Hermione’s coronation and wedding. Fifty-three for dinner wasn’t a problem - but if she ever went beyond a hundred, Hermione would have to use more than one set of china, Ginny considered, and then corrected herself. Viktor. Viktor would have to use more than one set of china - it was best to realize who cared about such things in this pairing.

Madam Potter looked back to the table and smiled a little, looking at the modest white rosebuds made of paper at the top of each place setting.

Ginny and Narcissa had, with Viktor’s blessing, created the dinner seating for the only formal dinner, on the first of January, but they had not done as Mory had, using only people’s coats of arms rather than names and styles. Ginny was happy to be doing this sort of thing with Narcissa for the first time and, honestly, it had been rather a treat to see a mistress at work.

There were an odd number of people. There were seven more men than women. It wouldn’t be a balanced table, but it would probably be a lively one, Narcissa reflected quietly, and Ginny wondered what dinner with more than five people wasn’t lively?

“May I?” Narcissa asked, looking at Ginny’s master list of everyone housed in Cair Paravel for the festival.

She made a duplicate copy and handed back the master to the younger woman who stood next to her, watching what she would do with avid interest.

She held her wandtip to the copy and as if teasing a memory out of her head, she teased the words off the page and flung them up in front of her and left them there to hang, slightly enlarged, and glowing.

“Now,” she said, almost to herself as she began rearranging, putting Hermione at the head and Viktor at the foot of the table. “Ideally, of course, everyone has a partner who is seated across the way, and one is not seated next to another of the same gender. Close family or friends sit nearest the hosts, or people you are meaning to honor, as with the case of the Queen of the Isles, and the Prince of Wales. And because there are twenty-six pairs besides our hosts, well, twenty-five and one half, a woman will sit to Hermione’s right, namely the Queen, and a woman to Viktor’s right, possibly his mother, Sofia.”

“Alright, yes,” Ginny said, catching on and looking at the names. “So then after Elizabeth and Charles, it would be William and Helen, and then you and… Draco? Or are we seating him with Luna?”

“With Luna, I think. No, we can leave the question of my table partner open for the moment and continue on. And we put Sofia and Gregor down here by Viktor, and his cousin next to his mother.”

“And next to you, Harry and me, and then Luna and Draco as we continue on down the table.”

“Yes, exactly, my dear. Hm. I suppose Mr. Dursley and Ms. Bennoit could be seated together next,” Narcissa murmured, swishing her wand and sending names wafting into place in a long double line. “And then perhaps Andy and Ted. And that ends the easy ones. Now. Let’s look at who is left.”

“Minerva and Kingsley should be paired,” Ginny pointed out, and Narcissa put their names closer together, yet still in the general area reserved for unseated guests.

“Yes, and Neville and Augusta, as neither has a guest.” Then she paired all those who actually came together as a couple, George and Ron and Percy and their plus ones, those of Viktor’s friends who were couples, including Bill and Fleur.

Very quickly it all came together, and Ginny had no remorse in seating Ron next to their mother in the middle of the table, nor sitting Percy next to Tommy. Who knows? Perhaps the two might balance each other out. When they were finished, all fifty-three names were neatly organized into a perfect seating chart, complete with appropriate styles and then the two women sat down to create the place cards.

Ginny wrote them out with her purple ink and her best fountain pen and Narcissa charmed the cards together with an elegant and complicated fold that made them resemble a blooming white rose that was only fully blossomed when one looked at it. When no one was looking directly at it, the paper petals folded back up again into a rosebud, and the name was hidden.

When they were finished and gazing happily on the product of their few hours’ work, Ginny inquired in the politest way she could think of, “I don’t suppose you’d like to tell me where you learned those charms? The folding charm, and the rearrangement of words in the air?”

Narcissa smiled ever-so-slightly. “My mother,” she said simply and Ginny deflated inside, because that would inevitably mean it was a  _ family  _ charm, and it would be the height of rudeness to ask for family secrets.

Not that Narcissa hadn’t been up for sharing a variety of Black family charms, particularly where security in communication was the subject. But this was different, not strictly necessary, and so Ginny just steeled herself to accept the truth: She wasn’t going to be able to do either set of charms (for surely they were not just one simple one, but a compound charm, made up of several smaller ones) any time soon, not until she researched and came up with something similar on her own.

“Shall I show you how?” Narcissa asked after a moment. “The first, I think, has quite a wide applicability, and though the second is, I will grant you, quite frivolous, it is useful in its own small way.”

Ginny had grinned, then, and told Narcissa in no uncertain terms that she’d  _ love  _ to learn them. And then she had. 

This is what Ginny thought of, dressed in the same gorgeous red dress she’d chosen for the Yule Ball, the same  _ amazing  _ Hebridean heels, with a black wool stole across her shoulders, as Harry led her to her seat and she saw the beautiful white paper rose unfold and declare, in her own handwriting,  _ Duchess Black Pendragon.  _ And she thought, as she’d never really considered (there had been a lot of changes in the last year, after all), that she was a member of the House of Black (and not just a distant cousin on both sides) every bit as much as the House of Pendragon. She’d married into both of them. Narcissa was her Head of House, even as Hermione and Harry were as well. And so… the charms Narcissa had taught her  _ were  _ staying in the family. Even the ones she shared back in September.

Just then Ginny looked up and across the table, next to where Harry would sit. She caught Narcissa’s eye and just smiled at her. No words were spoken, and none needed to be said.

* * *

Draco had begun speaking during the soup course to the woman on his left, who apparently spoke only French. He wondered if his only surviving uncle, whom he had never met before this weekend, spoke any French, as he was seated on the other side of Hermione’s grandmother.

_ “Are you enjoying the festival thus far, Madam Bennoit?”  _ he inquired politely.

_ “But yes of course, young duke. The circus yesterday was truly magnificent. I quite enjoyed myself. And you?” _

_ “The Festival has been full of surprises. So far all of them have been quite pleasant.” _

Madam Bennoit smiled the sort of smile Draco was not used to seeing - it animated her whole face, going all the way to her eyes, and yet it was somehow still quite a small expression on her mouth. The whole expression seemed to say so much, so blatantly that Draco’s brain was shocked into a momentary pause and he was unable to immediately consider the ramifications of such a knowing and joyful smile.

All he could think of, really, was the brief and stilted conversation with Aunt Andromeda and Uncle Ted where everyone seemed to want to be somewhere else, and only the infant seemed happy to be where he was. It had been full of extremely polite nothings stretched too tightly over what, Draco couldn’t quite be sure of, but it wasn’t pleasant, and he had no desire to be around should the cauldron cover come off. He was, however, polite on the side of warm rather than cool, and when the infant’s hair changed from sky blue to his own shade of blond as Draco had complimented him, perhaps it was possible that a heartstring was pulled, but Draco would admit it to noone but Luna. And perhaps Hermione, but only under duress.

Such brittle, tight control over thoughts, feelings, emotions, and expressions were apparently not called for in the soup course while conversing with a Frenchwoman. Honestly, Draco knew he had extended and very distant family in France, but he’d never had any contact with them, and the only French he knew, he employed, and such liberties as humor and knowing looks were not in the offing.

_ “I, too,”  _ Madam Bennoit said into Draco’s shocked silence,  _ “had a lovely evening last night. The staff of the French Ambassador were most accommodating. Beautiful dancers, in and out of the bedroom. So that is your young lady?”  _ she asked, glancing across the table to where Luna sat chatting with Harry about Merlin-knew-what, but probably not orgies with the French Embassy. Really, a very unlikely conversation, even for Luna.

Draco’s brain took a moment to sort itself out, skipping like an uncharmed record, as he said something to the affirmative. He could only mimic drinking the soup because he’d almost inhaled it when he realized that… and kept realizing that... Hermione’s grandmother had apparently taken some portion of the French Ambassador’s staff to bed last night.

Madam Bennoit said something complimentary about Luna and Draco could only murmur his agreement as he wondered if… well, had  _ everyone  _ been so affected last night?

_ Had his mother? _

No. No. No. He was  _ not  _ thinking about sex and his mother at the same time. No.

_ No. _

_ “Ah, poor young duke. I forget you are English, your French is so lovely. So uptight in the bedroom, the English. Believe me, I am well acquainted with such problems. My apologies for embarrassing you. Perhaps now we speak of grapes? I understand you are a vintner of many generations since before the Revolution? It was an early harvest this year, no? How fare your grapes, young duke?” _

And so until the end of the soup course, Draco spoke about grapes, which did not have sex despite the vineyards being on minor leylines, and were turning out to be not as disastrous a harvest as Francois had feared. Jeanne, the manager of his fields in Champagne, also a third generation squib, and a little farther out from retirement, had said all along it would not be so bad…

When the soup was taken away and the fish course appeared, Draco turned to Ginny on his right and did not at all show that he was relieved not to be speaking with the French widow for a brief period. It wasn’t that she was a squib, it was that he couldn’t stop picturing her in the midst of some sort of gallic orgy and it was an image he couldn’t quite get out of his head despite his best efforts.

“Evening, Ginny. How are the souvenirs coming along?” he asked, impressed again and again with this particular Weasley’s business sense.

“Oh, it’s fantastic, Draco, it really is. I’d set things up to we would have one-tenth stock on hand, you know, stock for one-tenth of festival goers to purchase one each sort of thing, but then I had it set up with my suppliers that another two-tenths could be rushed delivery in four hours notice, and another three-tenths could be rushed delivery overnight, and meanwhile we were prepped for backorders for both festival pick up and later delivery. Because, you know, I had nightmares of having a thousand extra-large yellow festival tee-shirts left, a gross of sword-in-stone snowglobes, you know, that sort of thing. But almost everything sold out three hours after dawn yesterday. There was a  _ run _ on the souvenirs. We got the second round of stock in, and we were almost completely sold out  _ again  _ by the time the Coronation began. This morning the third round of stock arrived and it’s been going more slowly, now, and it’s easier to tell which are the really popular things, so I’ve done some selective reordering for tomorrow’s delivery of items.”

Draco and Ginny then embarked upon a fascinating conversation about the tricky business of having stock that no one wants and the two, by the middle of the fish course, had considered that the photos and programme book could be advertised in the Quibbler for a few weeks afterwards, and the smaller souvenir items, like the snowglobes, could be put on consignment in a storefront, if only someone had a brother who had a shop in Diagon Alley. The tee-shirts that proclaimed ‘I WAS THERE’ would be a loss, and have to be returned to the manufacturer, if possible, or just turned into rags otherwise, but then Ginny had been very careful in reordering them and keeping stocks somewhat lower. Better to have shirts on backorder for post-festival delivery, they both agreed, then to end up with boxes and boxes of shirts no one wanted…

And then they had a fascinating conversation about whether or not it was more beneficial to have a storefront  _ off  _ Diagon Alley but still in London, or to have a storefront in the magical quarter on one of the high streets of another major British city, such as York or Edinburgh or Cardiff, even.

“There is a certain status in being in London’s magical quarter, but so long as you can afford to advertise in The Prophet and perhaps also the Daily Quibble, and you’re connected to Floo, it really shouldn’t make such a difference,” Draco said, and in saying so, went against everything his Father had ever said on the topic. “I mean, if you’re prepared to foot the expense of Owl delivery it could be a cottage industry from anywhere, really.”

“Where’s your storefront, then?” Ginny asked.

Draco’s brows rose without his permission. “Mine?”

“Yes, yours. I mean, shouldn’t you at least have a wine bar? Or a chain of them? Serving wine and good pairings - excellent cheese, quality fruit, little baked nibbles, sort of thing? And people can also order cases of wine and rounds of cheese, that sort of thing?”

“My father would roll in his grave,” he murmured, the excellent salmon all but forgotten. But he could see it. It would have the feel of the back patio of the Chateau in France, all heavy timber and aged brick, climbing roses and whitewashed walls. It would feel like you had just walked  _ into  _ Champagne.

“All the more reason,” Ginny muttered baldly, then ate some more. After a long moment she spoke again. “I’ve been learning about hard and soft openings, too, and so you have a soft opening in your area of choice for a month or so, but then you send out invitations for the hard opening, and you send them out to the press as well as us and everyone else you think might possibly show. And if the one in York, say, is successful, then maybe you think of opening one in Edinburgh, or Cardiff, and hell, maybe  _ avoid  _ London because rent is hell in Diagon Alley. I mean, if Hermione and Viktor, and hell, me and Harry smile for the cameras and toast the photographers, you know there will be some popularity from that, and the Prophet’s got to be good for something. You name it something that’s neither here nor there like, The House of Wine or something, and people slowly forget that you own it, even while it slowly brings up your reputation as active civic member, blah blah blah.”

Draco took a deep breath. He looked Ginerva Adora Black Pendragon Peveril-Potter in the eye. “Has anyone ever told you you’re brilliant?”

She grinned at him. “Lately, yes. But thank you, I’ll add it to the pile.”

After the fish course was removed and the fowl began, Draco was steeled and ready to turn back to Madam Bennoit, head swimming with ideas for Le Chateau, Wine Bar & Food Pairings. But that was when all hell broke loose across the table, because that was when Harry Potter had suggested a game of pick-up Quidditch the next morning, and then no one was confining their talk to the person on their left.

So much for a formal dinner.

* * *

The duck was brilliant, but really, Harry was thinking about Quidditch. Hadn’t had much of an opportunity to play, but there were a lot of interesting people here at present… so he decided to propose a pick up Quidditch game at eight the next morning, just for an hour or so. It was a very long table, with a great number of people, all talking amongst themselves. When word of this eventually made it to the other end of the table, Viktor immediately spoke into the now quiet void in the Great Hall.

“You will captain one team, I will captain the other,” he said, his deep voice carrying down the quiet, all the way to Hermione’s end of the table, where Harry was roughly sitting.

“I call Viktor,” Ginny said quicker than anyone else, her voice almost echoing in the hall.

“I call Harry,” Viktor’s father, Gregor answered, from the other side of the long, long table.

“Viktor,” Charlie said, from somewhere in the middle, towards Hermione’s end.

“Viktor,” Bill added, from Viktor’s end.

“ _ Viktor _ ,” said three of his friends all at once, Natasha, Ivan, and Alexi.

“Oi! Is anyone going to be on my team?” Harry asked the otherwise silent table at large. His voice also echoed slightly in the hall.

“Yeah, I’m in,” George said quietly, from his position somewhere in the middle. Still, he could be heard, as no one else was talking.

“I’ll do it if you’ll have me,” Draco said, clearly hedging his bets. He was almost directly across from Harry, at Hermione’s end of the table.

“As will I,” Fleur’s soprano rang out, from Viktor’s end.

“I need two more,” Harry said after the table was quiet. He privately wondered if Ron, who had always been Quidditch mad, would sit this one out or not. It seemed he might and Harry had an odd sort of dread that he might join his team at the last minute, for old times’ sake, or something.

“Can we play?” an extremely small voice from the exact center of the table asked. It was Negash, and he was looking between Harry, Hermione, his parents, and Tommy as best he could among fifty-some-odd people at the banquet table.

“If your parents agree,” Hermione replied, adding what she probably considered to be sensible conditions.

Harry only smiled in a somewhat sharklike manner when both sets of parents gave their somewhat reluctant permission before Sofia chimed in that if everyone gave her a shirt tonight, she would charm them jerseys, and that she would be in the Orange Salon and people could find her there. His worry about Ron was forgotten already.

“And what will you do for a referee?” Molly Weasley asked in the impatient tone that was her standard.

“Clearly it’s going to be you, Mum,” Charlie pointed out. Both Harry and Viktor nodded their assent.

Viktor looked down the long table to his wife. He could still be heard, as no one was yet speaking on side topics. This was spectator sport enough, apparently. “And will you come out to watch?”

She smirked. “I suppose.”

“I’ll provide thoughtful commentary,” Luna added, and if anyone heard Ron’s muttered blasphemy at the prospect, it was likely his mother who sat next to him, and if she had stomped down hard on his foot while smiling serenely, that would explain his pained and shocked look directly after. 

“We received a Quidditch set, didn’t we?” Viktor asked his wife.

Hermione looked momentarily unsure, and glanced at Luna, who answered. “Fourteen brooms from Germany and an heirloom set of balls and bats from Austria. You’re good to go.”

“Well, we’ve had a bit of everything else the festival has to offer,” Hermione’s father said. “We’ll definitely be there.”

And then there was a round of general appreciation for Hermione at the coronation festival, which she then redirected to Augusta, Narcissa, and Ginny, who all demurred in their own way, and all looked quite pleased underneath it all.

“My team,” Harry said when there was again a lull at the table, “after dinner, and after we get our shirts charmed, let’s have a quick strategy session in the White Salon, right?”

“My team, same thing, Purple Salon,” Viktor said.

“For those who wish to hear stories of difficult times,” Fleur’s voice chimed out in the quiet, and Harry instantly wondered what she was talking about. “An hour after dinner ends, join me in the Blue Salon, please.”

Still, he didn’t have long to wonder, as conversation quickly resumed his mind flitted away, as was its wont, from difficult topics. But this time the table wasn’t full of just quiet, personal side conversations like before. It was crazy, wonderful, and across the table, too. Harry loved it.

* * *

Luna was an absolute treat to speak with. Madam Andromeda Tonks was somewhat more difficult. It was a little like speaking with one of the adult neighbors, someone who would be friendly with his mother, Dudley thought. When he’d asked her the obvious conversation starter -  _ so, how do you know Hermione and Viktor? _ \- the answer, even as it came in stages, was not something he knew how to work with.

“We fought in the war together.”

And then after a few nibbles of fish, “I suppose I’m now something like an aunt to Her Majesty, through the House of Black.”

And then as Dudley tried to figure out something intelligent to say, “She was quite friendly with my daughter and son-in-law.”

That, he could respond to!

“Oh, are they here?” he asked with a smile.

“No, Mr. Dursley. They died in the Final Battle.”

“Oh, gosh. Right. Sorry,” he burbled.  _ Right! War! There was a war! Come on, get with it, D! God! What personal questions are safe? Shit! Had she used the past tense just now? Shit! She used the past tense! I should have known! Shit! _

“Not at all,” Madam Tonks murmured, and returned to her salmon.

And that was that for conversation in the fish course.

Dudley was so relieved when the chicken was served to turn back to Luna.

“I just love Peking Duck, don’t you?” she asked.

Dudley did a double take at his plate. Right. So, not chicken, then. Got it. “Never tried it before,” he replied gamely. Food from countries outside of Italy, France, Spain and America were not foreign dishes his father was ever willing to eat, and even Indian Takeaway was a revelation at Uni, but then, so many things were.

“Oh, you’re in for a treat,” Luna said, and then she launched into a fascinating story about the first time she’d ever eaten it, travelling with her father, whom Dudley already knew to be dead, so no foot-in-mouth there.

Dudley was about to say something, something complementary about her father, perhaps, who sounded like a cross between a saint and a comedian, but that’s when Harry proposed his plan for a pick up Quidditch match, which frankly sounded like a fantastic idea. D knew Harry  _ could  _ play, and some vague details about him playing for his house team at some point, and then Dudley grinned as very nearly everyone joined Viktor’s team instead of Harry’s. Well, except Viktor’s father.

D listened in rapt amazement as the event came together and he was certainly planning to be out in the stands come eight in the morning. When general conversation began again, Dudley piped up, still turning blissfully to his left.

“So, do you do sports commentary as well as everything else? Goodness!” he exclaimed with a smile.

She smiled back at him and it was serene. “I’m on a rotation at school this year. Last year was, alas, a loss for good Quidditch commentary.”

Draco, who sat across from her, seemed to have trouble with his food and started coughing, and really, even D recognized a level of understatement not usually found in conversation.

“Right, but you are brilliant at it, Luna,” said his cousin’s wife Ginny, who was sitting next to Draco and apparently ignoring his coughing fit. “You make us all sound good up there, no matter what.”

“Oh, you’re on one of the teams at school, at… at Hogwarts, then?” Dudley asked, slightly embarrassed for stumbling over the name of the school. It was a word that was forbidden at home.

“Yes,” the red-head said with a smile that was sort of an all-purpose smile and made Dudley wonder if perhaps something was off for her tonight, or something. The feeling of offness was fleeting however and gone by the time she continued speaking. “I’m seeker for Gryffindor.”

“She’s  _ Captain _ for Gryffindor,” Harry added, then turned to Luna. “What did you say this dish was called? This is great. I wonder if the twins can make this.”

“Yes, but have you caught the recruiter’s eye?” Draco asked, and yes, of course Dudley thought, there was no University - professional players must be recruited right out of school.

“No,” the red-head said placidly, preparing another pancake with two slices of duck, several pieces of scallion and a bit of the brown sauce that was really not Brown Sauce. “But I’ve decided not to be upset about it. Gives me more time to focus on business, you know? Quidditch is fun, but if I can’t play at that level, best to let it go now, you know? Being third string forever somewhere would just make me unhappy, because I know I’d want more than that.”

“You’re better in business,” Luna said in a dreamy voice and Dudley just listened to the by-play as he ate what was, frankly, an amazing course. There wasn’t a huge amount of it, but then again, it was the third course in how many he had no idea. Still, he listened as Luna continued. “You’ll meet more challenge and more opportunity to exercise your creativity in business, than in Quidditch. More opportunity to grow in really healthy ways. Business will look good on you, Ginny.”

“It already does,” Draco pointed out.

“You’ve been utterly brilliant, Gin, you really have,” Harry agreed. “I wouldn’t have known the first place to start, and you just… managed it all.”

“George has been advising me, and plenty of sixth and seventh years were keen for pocket money, so that made it all quite a bit easier.”

“And still, it could have been an utter trainwreck, had you managed it badly,” Draco pointed out gently. “I’d be curious to know what your net was when all is tallied.”

There was a pause for a general moment of eating excellent food before Ginny responded.

“I’m taking the day after tomorrow off, and then after that I’ll be sorting out order fulfillment and I’m really glad that three of my seventh year workers are coming back for that for three days, then another two days for sorting out the books. Yeah, I should be done sometime next week, but I’ll let you know. I’m curious, as well.”

“Well, on the 3rd I’m off to Burgundy to show this one around and see if he might take to becoming a vintner,” Draco said, nodding at him, and D grinned back.

“I wish I could come,” Luna said, filling a pancake with Peking Goodness, “but I do have so many interviews to edit, and by then I’ll have even more.”

Dudley watched Draco smirk, and then squash it. “When do you suppose Hermione is going to actually start reading the paper again? There’s one or two things from this morning that she might have missed. Suppose she’ll catch up?”

Luna giggled and Dudley wondered what  _ he _ had missed. Of course he  _ had  _ the newspaper delivered, but he’d also just popped it into his bag and instead watched the Queen of Magic open her gifts which included, among other things, a box of snakes and a Chimera egg.

Thank God Mum had just gotten Waterford.

But definitely. Paper. Maybe he’d read it over before he went to bed tonight - probably no late night drinking with mermaids and centaurs tonight, and that was just as well, because  _ wow  _ that had really taken it out of him; he’d been stiff and somewhat achey all day, even with paracetamol.

“Um, I didn’t read the paper either,” Harry pointed out, and D was grateful it wasn’t only him.

“Yup, me neither. What’d we miss, Luna?” Ginny asked.

“Oh, you know, a variety of announcements, blatant hatred from the Prophet editorial staff, the usual round of excellent advertisements, some fair Quidditch coverage from yesterday’s exhibition game-”

“No, Luna,” Ginny interrupted. “From  _ your _ newspapers.”

“Oh! That. Well, I just started running some abridged versions of interviews I had last night, you know, just what I could get to press with two hours work. I did need to sleep last night. Well, this morning. A bit.”

Ginny gave Luna a look that Dudley was fairly certain he wasn’t, as a man, supposed to see. It seemed like some silent feminine equivalent of a high-five.

“Anyway, the unabridged versions, with greater commentary, will be in the Quibbler and I’m really looking forward to the balance of voices I’ve managed to get throughout the Festival. It’s really been an amazing opportunity, so many different people so perfectly congregated, and from so many walks of life. It’s a dream opportunity, really.”

“So, wait. It’s just some interviews?” Harry asked.

Draco chuckled into his wine.

“Well, it’s not like Luna’s last name is Skeeter,” Ginny said, referencing something totally foreign. “I’m sure there’s no cause to worry.”

“Oh, none at all,” Luna added quickly. “Really, it’s just doors of opportunity waiting to be opened.”

“Yeah, I’m totally lost. I’ll just read the paper tonight,” Harry said.

“Start with the Chinese Ambassador’s interview,” Draco suggested.

Chinese Ambassador. Not where Dudley would have expected the conversation to go, but okay. He would have thought maybe someone important, like Queen Elizabeth, or the Prime Minister of Avalon or something. But… interesting things probably happened in China. It was a huge country. Bound to be interesting things there. So, the interview would probably be really interesting, kind of like everything else so far.

Dudley, totally content, just listened in quiet as his cousin and his cousin’s friends talked and soon enough the fowl course was finished and vegetables graced his plate. They looked fantastic with the cheese sauce dribbled artistically over them.

* * *

Elizabeth watched with passing interest as the formal nature of the dinner went to hell in a handbasket. Her hostess seemed to take this, at least, with complete equanimity and Elizabeth was glad that it would not be a further cause for stress for the young queen. Following the new form, she spoke to her son, seated across the table.

“I say, Charles, what do you make of the line up for tomorrow’s informal Quidditch match?”

He smiled and finished his mouthful of cheesy vegetable, which was rather cheating, putting creamed cheese on vegetables. Still, it was wonderful, and she wasn’t complaining.

“Well, without the young children it might have been a very different game. It seems like they may provide a buffer for the...  _ higher levels of play _ we saw earlier today. Now, there’s a thought.” He turned to Hermione. “How would you say professional Quidditch compares to what is played in school?”

After only a brief pause, Hermione responded. “I’m no expert, but generally it seems like school is a bit of a mish-mosh and you might get moments of well, sort of elite play, but it still can be quite hit or miss, you know? And then on the professional level you get much longer stretches of elite play without ever really reaching or maintaining perfection for long.” Here she grinned. “Well, except Viktor, and a few others like him, of course. But even that can only last for so long, even if it is years. I understand Chimera, the Inferi keeper is another one of those super elite players who just exist on another level. But to return to your question, Quidditch at Hogwarts is still utterly brutal, and Harry was younger than Tommy and Negash when he first played for Gryffindor. Though normally you do have to be a second year to play.”

Eager to engage the people on her right, Elizabeth included the Grangers in their conversation.

“Dr. Granger,” she said, addressing Hermione’s mother, “and are you a sporting woman, or did Hermione get her preference for books from your side?”

Helen Granger laughed just a bit and smiled. “No, she got that from her father, though neither of us is particularly coordinated outside of surgery. I stick to distance running. Team sport was never a strength of mine.”

“I tried running once,” Dr. William Granger added with a self-depreciating smile. “I found it to be an entirely dreadful activity. Gave it a solid go. Trained and everything. Ran a race, got a medal. Never again.”

Charles chuckled and then the cross-table conversation was firmly engaged and Elizabeth could sit back and enjoy her cheesy vegetables and observe, a sport she had elevated to an art form. And what she noticed, really, was that this was the merriest group of fifty-some-odd people she’d ever witnessed. And these were the people who were nearest and dearest to Hermione and Viktor’s hearts.

Elizabeth indulged herself in a moment of memory.

The time she had been able to formally meet Viktor Pendragon, nee Krum, had been just yesterday and only moments before his wedding and there had been no opportunity for any sort of conversation, and besides, the poor boy was about to wed, and then do heavy magic in the seating ritual and there was no point in cluttering up his mind with other things. But she got a chance to sit down and talk with him just earlier in the day, as they waited for the play to begin. The words were neither here nor there, of course, polite nothings, but she was able to take his measure all the same, and he seemed a very good young man, and not the sort where the gloss and shine is covering shadowy corners with dreadful secrets. If she wasn’t very much mistaken, he was just as Hermione had described him, and that brought Elizabeth a bit of relief. Not that there was much she could do about it if it wasn’t the case, but oh, to be crossed in love was a hard thing. It made everything more difficult, more painful.

No, what she hoped for Hermione was that she had found not just someone to love, but someone who could be a true partner, someone with whom life would be easier. To love and be loved was good, but it brought with it drama and pain and anguish if each one hadn’t decided, or simply wasn’t capable, of being a  _ true partner  _ to the other. True partners still created a bit of drama, of course, and there were always growing pains, but they also made easy the difficult, and put within the reach the previously unattainable.

_ Love made you the sum of your parts,  _ Elizabeth thought. _ Partnership made you so much more. _

And then she was jogged out of her thoughts and pulled back into conversation, but it was a pleasant and beautifully flowing conversation all throughout the cheese sauce vegetable course.

* * *

Narcissa Malfoy and Father Michael Fielding were an island of conversation in a sea of people speaking to others. Harry Potter was on her right and William Granger on her left and each were utterly engrossed with other people. It had been this way since the beginning of the fowl course, and now they were beginning on their filet mignon on a small bed of decadent mashed potatoes and while the plate was quite small it was excellently presented and perfectly cooked. She knew Viktor had planned the meal itself, and he was clearly quite good at it.

Still, Narcissa was resigned to her conversational partner. Which was to say that the part of herself involved with self-regulation was posting periodic warnings about the foolishness of paying so very much attention to the Rev. Fielding, and reminding her that  _ she was still in mourning  _ and that it would be utterly disastrous to attempt to initiate a liaison this weekend  _ and then still expect to be able to face him at any point in the future.  _

Of course, there was another part of Narcissa that very badly wished to bed him as immediately as possible and for as long as she could convince him, without benefit of potion or artifice, to remain.

She was not, however, a woman of whim. Nor was she a slave to her base urges, unlike her deceased husband, and wasn’t that just something she’d grown to loathe about Lucius?

No. She had mastered this last night, and she would do so again tonight. And for the present she would not ignore him, as he might take it the wrong way entirely and as an indication that she wasn’t interested in anything, ever, which was plainly not the case. She would speak with him.

But not too much.

Oh, this was agonizing. And as a planner of the table, it was entirely her own fault.

And so Narcissa was resigned, and mentally went through the lists of safe subjects about which to speak, attempting to find a nuance they had not yet covered. She tried not to think about the next three courses, and instead let them fend for themselves.

The beef course brought its own worries.

* * *

The salad course came, properly in Viktor’s mind, at the end of the meal just before the desert courses and the salad course found his end of the table in utter melee. It was, once one embraced the madness, quite glorious.

There was an argument going on at present between no fewer than ten people in no fewer than four languages. Viktor had lost track of what the argument was about. His friends were all in the thick of it, even the ones who had never met each other before this weekend - his childhood friends were mixing well with his friends from Durmstrang, and his friends from the Vultures, and with Fleur and Bill. The conversation at present seemed to be about Russian authors and whether or not they were inspired in their despondency or just dull as dishwater.

Mikhail was holding forth on their utter brilliance and Fleur was holding her own in a mixture of Russian and French with surprising eloquence as concerned their deadly dullness.

His parents and his cousin seemed to be on Fleur’s side, but everyone else, including Bill, was siding with Mikhail, and Viktor wondered if that was out of some misplaced loyalty or if they actually liked Dostoyevsky. 

Viktor grinned around his mouthful of greens as Fleur passionately held forth, gesturing at this point with both hands and, if he wasn’t mistaken, using a bit of her Veela heritage to sway the opposition. 

He refused to take sides, even though each side beckoned him to do so, and had done back when the conversation seemed to be about the best Quidditch team, and before that, when the conversation was about the weather, and more particularly, the pros and cons of deep winter of the sort he was unlikely to experience in Wales. No, Viktor considered to himself. There was no need to take sides, not when everyone was so lively and amusing without him. He was entirely content, enjoying his dinner and the liveliness and vibrancy of the conversation at his end of the table.

All this, and he got to gently rest his eyes on his wife, admittedly very far away, but with a sightline totally unhindered by a tall centerpiece or anyone else’s head.

It wasn’t the dinner he’d planned, but it was turning out well despite everything.

* * *

It was, in some ways, a huge relief that all decorum broke down entirely, Reitta considered. Not that her conversational partners were dull, by any means. A non-wizarding solicitor on her right, a rather humorous red-headed brother to her left, it was shaping up to be a perfectly unexceptional dinner, despite the fact that her little muscle-bound, dragon-taming  _ stud  _ was seated across from her for dinner, teasing her with his pretty eyes through the first three courses.

Not that he was  _ hers _ per se. Just a manner of speech, really. Though even through the first three courses, if his eyes were anything to go by, he certainly wanted a replay tonight.

But he was a man. Men were, by and large, dogs, and very fond of a sure thing. And to be utterly frank, Reitta was not yet certain if she was going to  _ be _ Charlie Weasley’s sure thing this weekend. Yes, yesterday was fantastic. Utterly fantastic, if she was being honest.

Really quite completely fantastic.

But that didn’t mean tonight would be. He was probably just making an effort last night, and tonight, if she took him up on his offer, tonight he’d probably be one and and done, and that might have been okay, before. Before last night. But her bar had just recently been raised. Not entirely. But a bit. And what she really wanted was to be rogered senseless into the night and on until morning, but was that realistic? Really? Just because it had happened once, and recently at that?

And then all sense of decorum broke down and her little dragon stud was inquiring directly about her family and Reitta found herself talking about her mother, her sisters, what Christmas and New Years had been like before she started working for Her. And his bedroom eyes shifted, somehow, but not in a bad way. But perhaps in a dangerous way. They were soft and beautiful and perhaps no less beckoning for being no longer overtly sexual. But even more dangerous than sex, they seemed to offer something else, something more, something Reitta flatly refused to define, even in the privacy of her own mind.

_ Do  _ **_not_ ** _ get your hopes up, Henrietta Pembroke,  _ she counselled herself sternly.  _ You have slipped quite efficiently into a quiet and industrious middle age and you do  _ **_not_ ** _ need a hot piece of hormones complicating your quite tidy existence. _

She held strong all the way until he started eating mashed potatoes. How anyone could make eating steak and mashed potatoes sexy, Reitta wasn’t sure. But her little stud could. By the time the sweet pudding showed up, all her previous determination to do anything but disappear behind closed doors with him after dinner had all but evaporated.

It wasn’t quite that Reitta ate the creme brulee in a mindless fashion. She  _ was _ quite rudely staring without speaking at him, as he stared without speaking at her, but their table companions were all off having other conversations. It was more that she was currently imagining licking the creme brulee off his torso that was the issue at hand. And she was fairly certain that they were on the same page, in that regard.

They finished the sweet pudding at roughly the same time and just stared at each other, both ignoring the final course of pears and cheese, both counting the minutes before dinner would finish and their hosts would rise so they could bugger off and go do something else.

Namely, each other.

* * *

Molly Weasley was having something of a rude awakening.

It had been a long time in coming.

It wasn’t beginning now, per se. It had begun a week or so ago in a smaller way, when she had been corresponding with Hermione and then moreso with Ginny, and then in a rather larger way shortly after she had arrived yesterday.

The thing of it was, if Molly Weasely had a bit of a blind spot, it was for her youngest son. She wasn’t sure why he was so different. She loved all of her children, really she did. But somehow, without realizing quite what had happened, she accidentally loved her youngest son most of all, and of course the terrible trouble with such a thing, she only realized well and truly far too late, was that she was less strict with him and more accepting… well, of many things. And as it turned out, some of her boys required more watching and some less, but he needed it most of all, and he got it least of all.

And this past summer Molly was so pleased to think that Ron might actually settle down with Hermione, even before all of this regent business. Hermione was a bit headstrong, but then so Molly had been, and while they had their disagreements, it just seemed so  _ obvious,  _ so  _ clear  _ that Hermione would be  _ such a good influence on Ron.  _

And when he started getting courting letters from virtual strangers, Molly went into hysterics such that Ron promised to lock them away and not answer them until he and Hermione had sorted themselves out.

And then he had admitted that they weren’t actually courting.

“Oh, come on, Mum. She’s a bit much sometimes. You don’t get to see that side of her, but I certainly do,” he had pointed out, being perhaps slightly more reasonable than Molly was used to seeing from her favorite son.

Ron had never seen fit to tell this mother the outcome of their decision at the end of the summer, though it was clear enough in September with Hermione and Viktor in the news so often, and then the announcement of their engagement… and by Narcissa Malfoy of all people.

But she dutifully invited her to Christmas at the Burrow. How could she not? She was like family, and she and Ron were still close friends and Harry and Ginny would come too, and Bill and his new wife, and Charlie would be home. Of course, Hermione would be welcome to bring a friend, if that’s what needed to happen, and that was clear, if between the lines. She’d never been hugely fond of Mr. Viktor I’m-So-Wonderful-At-Quidditch Krum, but she would feed him if he showed up, certainly.

But then Molly had received an icily polite refusal from Hermione, citing her own house guests to attend to, and it was all quite shocking and later on Molly had come to realize there were quite a few things that she had assumed about the situation, but at first blush, at the time she had been so angry…

She wrote a very regrettable note to her daughter. It was… perhaps not well thought out.

And Molly received a rather eye-opening reply that came in the form of a howler.

_**“Don’t you DARE attempt to tell me what you think you know is true when you truly know NOTHING. Ron has ALWAYS been your favorite and you’ve had BLINDERS ON CONCERNING HIS BEHAVIOR FOR YEARS. Well, we’ve all grown up now and our true colors show on a regular basis, and you know what Mum? Your sixth child is a total shit sometimes, and it’s mostly directed at Hermione. He’s rude, selfish, and neither Harry nor Hermione are friends with him any longer! When you decide to OPEN YOUR EYES concerning Ronald Bilius Weasley, feel free to write to me again, and until then KINDLY KEEP YOUR UNINFORMED OPINIONS AND FAULTY JUDGMENTS TO YOURSELF!!** _ Hi, Dad, love you.”

And she’d had a quiet, tearful conversation with Arthur on the subject.

And then come Christmas break she’d had a firm and difficult conversation with Ron on the subject. She didn’t go so far as to admit her favoritism, but they did discuss how she had spoiled him, how some rules didn’t apply to him, and he acknowledged that he could see it, too. And she was clear: no more. If he had questions, she would answer, she would help, but henceforth, she would expect the same gentlemanly behavior from him as from his older brothers, and he would be in the same level of hot water should it not appear.

And then they discussed Auror training and getting a part-time job to support himself while he stayed in the barracks come July.

Yesterday morning when they’d all arrived Molly had a chance to observe him for just a few essential minutes when he wasn’t thinking. She was stunned at how shallow and frivolous he really was.

Molly herself took one look at the giant Pendragon estate and all the purported house elves and what she saw was Responsibility in large, flaming letters. Responsibility and More Responsibility. One only had upwards of fifty house elves when one a) had intense use for them and b) had enough magical output to safely support them all.

Pendragon was an Ancient and Resurrected house, it would need to be self-sufficient very soon in the current political climate if Hermione hoped to be a force for good in any small way, and it was apparently also the natural human liaison with the Centaurs and the Merfolk, who were, collectively, almost as tricky to deal with as the Goblins.

Responsibility and More Responsibility.

All Ron could see was the loss of his own personal Quidditch pitch and the power to  _ make  _ people play for him, of having elves tend to his every whim, of having power and privilege for his own amusement and leisure.

Leisure, Molly was certain, was a thing Hermione was not well acquainted with, and having this estate and the immense Responsibility it represented wasn’t going to help her much. 

She had said nothing at the time, but had been considering many things. She’d spent the early afternoon brewing off her guilt - how could she bear to enjoy herself at a concert at a time like this? Even Celestina Warbeck? There would be other times, other concerts - or there wouldn’t, and that would be her loss.

How could she have been so blind?

This is what Molly Weasley contemplated as she ate her pears and cheese and conversed politely with the young muggle couple to one side, leaving, for now, the hypervigilance for her youngest son to the other side.

* * *

It was prearranged between them; when the plates of the last course disappeared, they would end their conversations as quickly as they could and look to each other. When they were both ready, they would stand together, thank the assembly, point out that brandy would be served in each of the salons, and excuse themselves to retire for the evening.

Except of course that Viktor now had a Quidditch meeting. It would not take long, of that he was very clear.

The dishes had disappeared.

They ended their conversations.

After a moment, they rose together, and very quickly everyone else followed.

Hermione had just thanked all the assembled.

“You will find brandy in each of the salons for those who wish to linger,” he said.

“And now, please excuse me. I will retire for the evening,” she said, still looking at him.

“I will accompany you,” he added, his voice carrying the roughly fifty meters between them. As he began walking around the table, he added, “My team gathers in thirty minutes.” 

At length, he reached her end of the table and her end of the room and when he drew close to her, it was like the magnets she had demonstrated to him; an ever-increasing, irresistible pull. Well within her personal space he offered his open palm to her and she slipped her hand in his. She didn’t smile, but her eyes were soft. Everyone was watching of course, and Viktor had no intention of being anything but perfectly correct and polite, but this close to her the desire he felt was palpable; he had dispensed with the Gentleman’s Charm sometime mid-morning and he suspected that something about the ley line magic disrupted it anyway.

His eyes held hers as he bowed ever-so-slightly, and brought the back of her hand to his lips.  _ Oh, how he wanted her.  _

Viktor tucked her hand into his elbow and as they turned and walked away from the table and toward the grand staircase, conversation started again and others were free to linger or drift into a salon or up to bed as they chose. They were silent as they walked and only the press of her fingers on his arm was an indication of how she felt. A little he could write off to reflexive action. This much pressure was clearly intentional, not that he needed further impetus at this point. The few precious hours they’d shared in the Roman Bath today felt like ages ago, and it wasn’t enough. It was ridiculous to think that they could just spend six weeks in bed as Mory had implied they ought to do, but right now the thought was so attractive that Viktor couldn’t bear to think of it at all, because he knew it was impossible. She had school for one, besides other responsibilities.

They climbed the stairs at a sedate pace and Viktor took deep breaths, holding on the inhale and the exhale both, attempting to calm himself the old fashioned way. Focusing on his breath, and thus less on Hermione and how utterly desperate he was to be inside of her, to hear her sigh and gasp was helpful, for as long as his focus lasted. Happily their suite was at the top of the stairs.

Viktor had barely shut the main door to the suite before he found himself pushed up against it, arms full of his wife who was apparently feeling as amorous as he was.

“Cancel the charm,” she gasped, pausing in kissing his neck above the collar.

“I’m not using it,” he growled, moving his hands lower to grab her hips and pull her in close so she could feel him.

She gasped and he could feel the curve of her smile against his neck.

“We’ve got twenty-five minutes for round one. Is that going to be a problem?” she asked, her hands at his waist, unfastening his belt.

“No problem,” he confirmed, inching her dress up her hips with his fingers. “I’ve wanted to fuck you in this dress since you first wore it. The urge has not abated since then,” he said as he continued to crumple the sides of her long black dress in his hands.

Belt conquered, buttons open she half shoved his trousers down and started pumping his cock in one of her hands while the other cradled his balls. “I’m so wet. Viktor I’m so wet it’s crazy. I know we usually start off soft but please, please can we start hard?”

Viktor almost choked on his saliva and with the remaining blood in his brain spun them around and pressed her to the door. He’d managed to get her dress up to her hips and leaned in to grab her firmly and so hoist her up.

“Climb me,” he ordered her and suddenly her arms were tight around his shoulders and her legs clung to his hips. He pinned her to the door and as he went to shove her underwear aside his fingers slipped through her wetness and he throbbed with longing. He groaned and lined himself up, notching the head of his cock at her entrance with ease, as if he had been already doing it for years.

“Yes, yes, please, yes,” she was chanting in his ear.

But he paused.

“Hard? You’re sure?” he asked, his voice almost cracking.

_ “Please-please-please-please-hard-so-hard-please-” _

Viktor took several deep breaths, almost hyperventilating, muscles shifting, his stance widening. He moved one hand behind her head to cushion it, but it was palm to the solid wooden door so he could also use it as leverage. He was trying to be more aware, hyper aware of her so that he had even the smallest chance of lasting longer this first time.

_ “-so hard, Viktor, hard as you can, please, hard as you can-” _

He did not modulate his pace. He was not tentative. From the first he slammed his hips into her as hard as he could get leverage to do so. 

It was so good.

He didn’t care about his arms straining, or the punishment inflicted on his back muscles.

It felt so good.  _ She _ felt so good. And it was like coming home, from the first thrust inside of her. And to be able to just lose himself in a hard, fast fuck… well that was yet another dream come true.

Well, not quite lost. Not if he wanted to last.

It wasn’t quite so deep as other positions they’d tried, but the leverage was very good indeed. And from the first his growling yell, entirely unintentionally, consisted entirely of the oft-repeated word  _ fuck. _

When she came, she screamed, and just as he was about ready to perhaps join her, and then, blissfully, be able to slow down and sit down both, that was when she begged him not to stop, begged him to go harder.

She had done that once before and the realization of it jolted Viktor so profoundly that it staved off his orgasm.

No.

_ No. _

They had twenty-five minutes. Ten of which was likely already gone, if not more. This was not a good time for multiple orgasms. Almost any time  _ was  _ a good time for multiple orgasms, except for now.

Fuck. He needed to get her off fast, and hard, and right now.

_ “Switch!”  _ he gasped and staggered over to the bed.  _ “Off! On your knees!” _

“Oh, thank God,” she said, also on a gasp as she kneeled on the bed just at the edge, folding her legs up underneath her. “So hard, please, so hard,” she murmured.

Viktor lined himself back up and slammed back inside, instantly overwhelmed all over again by the heat and the pressure and the slick wetness and her gasping cries for more. He gripped her hips tightly and knew that if he could manage to say something, anything remotely coherent it would help but he wasn’t sure he could. Still. He tried.

“Beautiful. So beautiful. Wanted you... all day. Wanted you...  _ everywhere _ .”

She came again, but begged for it even harder, which while not presently possible, certainly got the point across that she was not yet done.

As Viktor tried to comply, and slowly felt himself unravelling at the seams, he only realized belatedly that he was chanting the word fuck over and over, gasping it. A thought chased across his mind; he was holding her too hard. He shifted his hold on her hips, but some tiny part of his brain registered that she would have bruises in the shape of his fingers. 

By the time he came Hermione was chanting for more that she wasn’t, presently, going to get, and he himself was shaking.

He lasted standing for the length of a single deep inhale after he came, and then his knees gave out. He had released Hermione, thankfully, and just gave up once he hit the floor. It wasn’t so bad down here, anyway. Stone was a bit hard. And a bit cold. But very clean, at least.

Viktor groaned.

“You okay?” Hermione asked and as Viktor could see out of his peripheral vision, she had rearranged herself on the bed. 

He was fine. Or he would be at some point in the near future. And she looked great. Was that fair? Viktor wasn’t sure it was fair. When they took polyjuice potion she’d see how utterly draining a really good orgasm was for a man.

“Viktor?” she prompted, and he realized he must not have answered out loud.

“Mm.” Also, holding her up and having really rough sex? Somewhat more exhausting than the same with gentle sex. It was a good thing he was on vacation. Possibly their sex life could constitute on-vacation cross-training. 

If he didn’t stretch at some point soon his back was going to be screaming at him in the morning.

She checked her watch, which just reminded him of stamina drills. Dear God, woman, hadn’t he just proven himself? He wasn’t doing it again. Not any time soon. It was possible he’d lay on the floor for the next hour.

“Three minutes before you have to go, Viktor.”

“Go?” his voice was a croak, like he’d been yelling. Had he been yelling? He had no memory of that.

“Your Quidditch meeting?” she was grinning at him.

“Fuck Quidditch,” he groaned. “I’m on vacation.”

She hopped off the bed, laughing, possibly at him, and with all the energy in the world. Totally unfair.

“Not the Inferi. Your pick-up game against Harry in the morning. Two and a half minutes. Come on, I’ll help you get dressed.”

Viktor’s groan came from the innermost part of his being.

“Why did I agree to that?” he asked slowly. “At eight A.M. I should still be in bed with you.” Still, he lifted his hips and quietly let her pull his trousers back up and tuck his shirt in before she fastened everything she had unfastened only minutes before.

“My guess? Because you genuinely like Quidditch, and as much as you get along well with my brother and best friend, you are as competitive as the day is long and you want to prove yourself better than him. Just a stab in the dark, there. Good for you, I genuinely don’t like Quidditch and I already know you’re the better seeker by a long shot. I’m just going in order to perve on you while you fly. It’s the one time I get to stare at you for hours in public and no one thinks it strange. There you go. All tucked back and ready to go.”

Viktor did a little crunch and saw that she’d rebuttoned his tuxedo jacket as well. He let his head sink gently back to the stone floor, which was getting a bit hard. May as well get up.

Still he groaned. And then rolled over and pushed himself off the floor. Oh, it was hard to get up.

“I hate Quidditch,” he groaned, hands on his knees, bent over. But he was on his feet, at least.

“No, you don’t,” she countered and he could hear her smiling.

“I do right now,” he said, straightening up and then cracking his back.

He turned and she was there, looking radiant and thoroughly tumbled. Still, the circlet she wore on her forehead kept her hair from being too mussed, which reminded him. Cleaning spell.

He closed his eyes and concentrated and at least erased the scent of sex. He quite liked it, but not as a cologne for a meeting.

She leaned in and kissed him gently on the mouth and Viktor wrapped his arms around her.

“Don’t be too long, okay?” she asked.

Viktor nodded. “Order a snack for us for two in the morning, yes? And will you have an elf deliver one of my undershirts to my mother for transfiguring?”

“Done,” she said before kissing him again.

He tore himself away and took the opportunity of a calm walk down the stairs to finish regulating his breathing before walking into the Purple Salon and his waiting friends.

* * *

“We will crush them,” Natasha said, clearly shaking her head at the shame of it all.

It was obvious.

It was clear.

It was inevitable, and Natasha laid out her rationale for the whole room.

Their beaters were the red headed brothers, and had played for years together that way.

Their chasers were the three friends from Vratsa who had grown up together and chased all their days away together.

Their seeker was the best in the world.

And if their keeper was a displaced seeker? What did it matter?

“There is only one tactic they could take which would undermine us,” Viktor warned, looking around his team which was too full of hubris for his liking.

He outlined his concerns, but only Ginny seemed to take him at all seriously, which was a very bad sign indeed, as her husband was the mastermind of the other team. And if he understood the situation correctly, he would be the only opponent he’d ever played  _ who knew his strategy.  _

Hermione had said she’d shown Ginny and Harry his first courting letter to her, to have it translated for her. And that was the only one in which he sought to amuse her by sharing his strategy. It would be just his luck that Harry would remember at least the gist of his words.

For a brief moment, perhaps twenty seconds, Viktor cared. His competitive nature at the fore, he cared and it bothered him that his friends weren’t taking him seriously and strategizing around the complex situation in which they found themselves. This, of course, was the problem with a team that wasn’t cohesive, that wasn’t truly a  _ team _ .

Which meant that either he sucked as a captain, or he cared far more about going back up stairs and spending the rest of the night and wee morning hours with his wife than trying to convince his childhood friends that Harry Potter was, in fact, ‘a crafty mofo’ (Ginny’s words) and would use every advantage.

Viktor decided to believe it was because he wanted sex more than he wanted to win and adjourned the meeting before the arguments began in earnest.

* * *

Harry was smiling in the White Salon after dinner.

“We’re going to win, and here’s why,” he said. And then said,  _ “Negash! Catch!”  _ and chucked the liberated quaffle at his head.

He caught it.

_ “Tommy! Catch!” _

It hit him in the nose.

Gregor checked the nose, declared it unbroken, and ruffled the young man’s hair.

“Right. Fleur, I need you on goal. Gregor and George, you good to be beaters? Excellent. They’ll expect me to take the seeker’s position, but we’re not going to win if its me versus Viktor. But we  _ will  _ win if it’s Viktor... _ versus Tommy.” _

“Uh…” said Tommy, looking worried. He also looked the very picture of childhood innocence and goodness and kindness.

“And that is exactly the sort of look you’re going to give Viktor, my little friend,” Harry said with great satisfaction in his voice.

Gregor burst out laughing.

“You are  _ devious, _ Potter,” Draco drawled with possibly just a shade of envy in his voice.

Harry grinned at him.

“Negash, you’re going to play chaser with me and Draco, and unless I’m mistaken, it’ll be Ginny on goal and it’s not her strong suit. But her brothers will be the beaters and work together, and Viktor’s three friends look like they’ve been chasers as a team since the beginning of time,” and here he looked to Gregor for confirmation, and the older man nodded once. “So this is how we’re going to play it…”

* * *

Draco had left the door to his suite just slightly ajar so that Luna could join him if and when she desired to do so. Of course, he hadn’t just gone and left it open. Even here, that smacked of rampant foolishness.  _ I’ll Leave The Door Ajar For You.  _ It was a specialized locking spell and one of the twelve seduction spells his father had sat him down and taught him at sixteen, despite the insanity of their lives. Fully half of them he would never use, not now that Luna was firmly a part of his life. 

He had been edging toward the realization that all the dark artifacts had to go and that all the dark spells ought to be forgotten, but there was something somehow reassuring that they were still there in the background, just in case.

But no more.

Saying yes to Luna had also been taking a firm and decisive step away from the darkness, as firm and decisive as he could manage, even more so than his growing friendship with Hermione.

He surveyed the space he had to work with. It was a nice suite, if a bit plain and a bit bare. Or taken from the proper perspective, it was  _ decorated in the ancient style.  _ Hermione and Viktor had given it to him for his use whenever he stayed with them and had invited him to redecorate it in whichever way he wished.

Draco had to check with his mother on that one to make sure that he could, in fact, take that at pure face value. The last time he checked, redecorating bits and pieces of your host’s home was the height of rudeness - it implied they were incompetent hosts. Even casting a spell for privacy or silence ought to be done with exceptional discretion, as your host really ought to have provided for that if it was needed.

Still, that would be something to sort out with Luna in the due course of time, as come summer it would be her home away from home as well.

Then again, come summer she would be the mistress of Malfoy Manor. They had no house in town, though they used to have one in Paris, that was generations ago, now. There was the Chateau in Champagne which was at the vineyard - the land in Burgundy holding only work buildings and a small cottage for the manager. Two country houses that needed to be swept of dark artifacts, two vineyards that needed quite a bit of work, and a rather tarnished name.

Duke or no, Draco was well aware he was no catch.

The holdings over the last four generations had dwindled until the vineyards and the Manor in Sussex were the only things the Malfoys held outright. Where the money had gone, the books were not entirely clear. Oh, certainly much had gone in the last twenty years to finance the efforts of the Idiot King, Draco’s private name for Tom Riddle, post-war. But that didn’t account for the terrible management of the previous hundred eighty years.

His plan for recovery was simple:  _ Solidify his base _ ; he would get the vineyards on a more solid footing and do his best to push the label, and perhaps attempt to break into the muggle wine world.  _ Liquify assets _ ; everything dark would be auctioned off, likewise everything garish and gaudy, though it would be two separate auctions and he would be happy to receive Luna’s opinion on the second.  _ Diversify his investments _ ; investing only what he could afford to lose, primarily the income from the auctions, looking more toward long-term payoffs and possibly things that could open doors to further diversification, like investing in Ginny’s entrepreneurial endeavors. And above all,  _ cease stupid spending;  _ his father bought the oddest things at a whim and Draco had begun to follow in his footsteps, but no more.

He’d already had a preliminary conversation with the Auctioneer his father had preferred and in truth the man was discretion personified. Mr. Fielding-Morris had suggested that due to controversy, they put out the word that it both was and was not the liquidation of all dark assets in the Malfoy’s care, that way they could cast the widest net. He and mother would need to take roughly a month of afternoons to work with Fielding-Morris’ assistants to catalogue the collection, and of course any items mother wished to get rid of, all the better. That might happen at soonest when Hogwarts was back in session, but it should not be, Draco thought, too much later than that.

Time would pass quickly, especially if Luna applied for his (Merlin help him) right to cohabitate with her between dinner and breakfast every day.

Oh, hell.

Returning to Hogwarts.

It was hard enough to summon up the energy to do it once, for that damnedable Yule Ball which had, at least, turned out to be not a total disaster. But every night? If she got a suite near Hermione’s and he was allowed continued access through her floo, it might not be horrific, but if he had to come through the front entrance every time? He’d have to time it perfectly while everyone was still at dinner or risk replaying his nightmares in the hallways.

Draco sighed and ran a hand over his face before thinking again of the suite. He should talk with Luna, of course, but two desks, or perhaps a double one? ...No, perhaps not a double one. He just needed a discreet writing desk really, and he’d already noticed just how many documents she had to shuffle and how much space it required. A few owl stands would be useful of course. And for heaven’s sake, a comfortable place to sit and read a book, or more particularly to canoodle with Luna would be appreciated.

Draco looked back into the bedroom. The bed was perfectly lovely, really. The walls could use some locked art, but there was plenty to shuffle around, and Luna would want a say in that.

He glanced in the dressing room. It was serviceable. The tub could be bigger and a second wardrobe wouldn’t go amiss. One with a rack, and hangers.

The powder room… was not worth mentioning. He’d tried that early on with Potter and instead of commiseration, Draco got a lecture on the intense need for more composting in the world, not less.

Draco sighed again, but then smiled as the main door to the suite pushed itself open as a sweet voice said softly, “Knock, knock.”

It was part of the spellwork. Only she could open it, but still, it was sweet of her to call out.

Luna was, Draco reflected, an incredibly sweet person.

She leaned against the door after she closed it, and her sigh was a great deal happier than any of his had been. “What a  _ day!”  _ she exclaimed and somehow everything and nothing was conveyed in her tone. Per usual, Draco was left perplexed by her simplicity and complexity both. She was just  _ so expressive. _

“Were the interviews good?” Draco asked, knowing that for Luna, this festival meant unparalleled opportunity and an incredible amount of work.

“They were  _ fantastic!”  _ she said, and as she did so, she was utterly radiant and Draco felt himself fall a little further in something with her. Not love. He didn’t think. But… fascination, perhaps?

Luna twirled a little twirl of happiness, and then kept twirling, now moving across the room until Draco had the option to get out of the way, be struck down, or catch her.

“Hi,” she said, grinning as he held her.

One eyebrow lifted of its own accord. “You certainly seem to have plenty of energy this evening, Miss Lovegood.”

She grinned wider. “I do, don’t I,  _ your grace?”  _

He ignored it, her open invitation to discuss the silly nature of formal titles between them and instead asked a leading question of his own. “Have you much work left this evening?”

“No!” she exclaimed rather quietly, all things considered. “None! I am  _ done  _ for the evening!” And then she stared rather more intently into his eyes and in a softer tone, continued. “And there’s nowhere I’d rather be but here with you.”

He didn’t smile. He wanted to, a bit, maybe, but their relationship was still too fragile, too tentative for that level of vulnerability just now. And just now he neatly forgot how often he had smiled last night, and again this morning... But just now he wanted to quite consciously, and moreso than he’d wanted before. Because he suspected that what she’d said wasn’t just an expression with her. He suspected she was being utterly truthful. And if she was…

Instead of smiling, Draco watched her eyes, her happy, laughing, lovable grey eyes and leaned in slowly, finally breaking eye contact as he got so close to her that her eyes shut. He brushed his lips over her cheekbone on one side, greedily taking in her sigh of pleasure, the feel of her hands at the small of his back.

“Why do you want to marry me?” he whispered into her neck, and maybe now wasn’t the time, and certainly he’d asked before now but he’d gotten the sense that she’d always censored her answers in the past.

And then Luna was pulling him across the room and grabbing up an animal rug from one side of the bed and putting it before the fire. She thanked it before she gracefully sat in a heap and pulled him down after her.

“Oof!” Draco exclaimed. But he wasn’t hurt and now he had his head in her lap and with the warm fire it was… surprisingly nice. Even if she did thank the rug before sitting on it. Not something he’d ever considered doing.

“So, I usually code switch, you know? Because I’ve come to understand I see things other people can’t, even magical people, and I see into people in a way that isn’t obvious to others. I don’t so much mind the ridicule, but when I can’t be understood by others, then that does become a problem. So I learned. Code switch. Translate. And you’ve asked me this question before, and I’ve answered honestly, but I’ve also translated out of the way I see the world and into a way I thought might be more understandable for you. And I know that hasn’t been very satisfying for you. But the thing is, Draco, if I answer without code switching, that might not be very satisfying for you either, as answers go.”

Draco swallowed tightly and prepared himself for brutal honesty, and then engaged in a bit himself. “I want to know how you see the world, Luna,” he whispered up to her even as her hand caressed his hair.

She smiled, and it reached her eyes easily. “The world I see is beautiful. And so are you.”

And then she explained the concept of karma, the idea of past lives, and the concept of returning to non-duality.

“So,” he said quietly, absorbing her beliefs and more than beliefs - what she could see that he couldn’t. “You’re saying you and I have known each other before.”

“Yes, broadly. But really, everyone has. Everyone’s known everyone. Everyone  _ is  _ everyone.  _ And also,  _ you and I have been orbiting each other for a very, very long time. Each time taking turns in… shall we say…  _ disappointing _ one another.”

Draco gave her a look that silently asked for clarification.

“Oh, you know, betrayal, murder, more gruesome things. But the bigger picture here is that we take turns. In one lifetime I’m the aggressor, in another it’s you. And we’re getting each other back for the lifetime before, but that just perpetuates the cycle even as we get generally less brutal as the generations pass. 

“And the whole point is that it has to end somewhere. It always does. In this lifetime it would have been my turn to kill you, and it was when you imprisoned me, that’s when I saw so clearly that it was karma - you were trying to head me off, unconsciously. And how could I be angry at you for that? Somewhere deep down you were terrified I was going to kill you in return for what you’d done to me last time, but I’d already made a decision a long while ago, no more murder. So regardless of whatever other karma we had, I refrained from killing you when I had the opportunity, and I refrained from hating you when the urge struck. 

“But don’t think you’re special in this way. This is how it is with everyone. Harry and Ginny, Hermione and Viktor, my parents, your parents - we’re all working out our karma, sometimes backsliding, if you will, building up even more destructive karma, and we’ve all come from even more violent cycles and lifetimes than even this one.”

Draco looked at her and he knew his expression spoke volumes of how dubious he found that. “Even Hermione and Viktor? I’ve never met a sweeter or more doting couple.”

Luna snorted and grinned. “And yet. If only you could see their karmic history. They’ve spent most of Time both loving and hating each other to the best of their ability. I won’t share details, that wouldn’t be right, but believe me, they’ve had their lifetimes of being far, far worse than Tom or any of his death eaters could have imagined being. But then the point is, we  _ all _ have, if you look far enough back.”

Draco nodded silently and thought about this for a while, staring into the fire. Finally he spoke. “So, you see all of this, all of the time.”

“Mm, yes and no. Some of it I see even when I don’t want to, or don’t mean to. Some of it I see because I look deeply and ask, though I try not to do that just for curiosity’s sake. That would be a terrible invasion of people’s privacy, after all. But then most of us do wear our karma on our sleeves you know, not even making the barest attempt to rein in our emotional responses to other people.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Well, when you hate someone on sight? Or have a soft spot for someone for no apparent reason?”

“Some people just rub you the wrong way,” Draco pointed out and then a moment later realized how defensive he sounded.

“And there’s an excellent reason why,” Luna replied plainly. “Because it’s your turn to be the aggressor, or in the pleasanter way, because you have unfinished business with someone with a lifetime before and it’s positive, which also happens. There’s more to it than that. More detail. But you could spend a lifetime describing how it works and still only understand a small part of it. But the point of me telling you any of this is to lay a foundation for what I’m going to say next. Are you ready?”

Whenever Luna asked him if he was ready to hear something, Draco knew he needed to brace himself. When he thought he might be ready, he nodded his assent.

“I broke the negative karmic cycle between us when I was still in your basement. And if nothing else had ever happened between us, you and I would have walked away better and lighter people for it. 

“But there was an opportunity there as well that only opened up when you later defected; you made a crucial decision in favor of goodness and light, and after you had done that you reinforced it with small decision after small decision - and the small ones are usually the most important you know - and I could see so clearly that there was unfinished business between us as well, and positive business at that. That means that not only could we positively affect one another, we could make waves and ripples in the world together that would help others. Not out of any particular effort, you understand, just by being ourselves. And because of that you would have a soft spot for me, and I would find you attractive, but of course it takes more than that. We would have to choose each other. Choose for ourselves, you know?”

Draco took a deep breath. “So…” he began, not really knowing what or how to say what might come next. “So, love was never the object. It’s about karma and past lives.”

She raised a single eyebrow, but didn’t stop caressing his head. “Draco, love is always the object. And if the karma and past lives stuff muddies the waters, let it go and know these two things: First, that I don’t hold the past against you at all, in any way, and second, that I see something in you that resonates with something in me. And that something tells me with perfect clarity that we could be good together.”

_ She doesn’t hold the past against me. _

_ She knows we could be good together. _

_ Love is always the object. _

Draco took a deep breath and decided to be honest. “I want love to be the object,” he whispered, and then leaned up and kissed her before she could say anything else.

* * *

Dudley had just heard an  _ earful  _ about the war that he could have never guessed from his new French friend, Fleur. It was… sort of hard to process, like, like watching a war film and thinking it was so fictionalized, and then as the credits rolled, reading the sort of fine print they sometimes put there and finding out that it was almost entirely true, and that it was only slightly censored because the truth was too horrible, too gory, too hard to believe to put in the movie.

Maybe it was a good thing it had been more than an hour since dinner. Maybe he wouldn’t vomit it back up again.

Harry had been hunted. Captured. Died. Resuscitated. Hermione was tortured for information. Their friend, Neville, had run an underground school within the school. And then other names. So many individual people trying to win a war, but where was the Army? Special Forces?

Why were school children fighting a war for adults?

Why was the battleground a school, for God’s sake?

Dudley thought of Smeltings. Of the seventh and sixth and fifth years at Smeltings. Of the teachers. And he tried to imagine them fighting siege warfare. Hand-to-hand combat. And to have some of the aggressors… be parents.

_ Parents. _

He didn’t realize he was crying. But he did realize he needed some air. He wouldn’t go far, just inside the walls of the castle complex.

He walked in silence around the big Roman building with the red curtains, not feeling the cold, but liking the way the crispness of the air cleared his head. He walked through the curtains with half a thought to maybe sit in the greenhouse courtyard in the center, but found himself cutting through the communal toilet and vomitorium, which was convenient because that was the exact moment when every fiber of his being had had enough of the horror and the death and the horribleness, vicarious though the trauma had been.

He was, though he knew it not, the first person in a thousand years to use the vomitorium for it’s proper purpose. Dudley was also, though he was entirely unaware of it on the first of January, the first person in a thousand years to have an orgy in a structure built for the purpose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! What a rollercoaster. Thoughts? Feelings? Cravings for filet mignon or desire to vomit?


	56. Chapter 48: Wherein the Festival winds down.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> January 2nd was bound to happen. And so it has.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are scenes in this chapter that I've had written for almost a year. Namely, the Quidditch scenes. I think they're hilarious and even on the darkest day, they never fail to make me snorffle with joy. I hope you can enjoy them too. (There are other good bits in here as well, but I thought I'd warn you; don't drink anything during the Quidditch bits.)

The second of January dawned bright and clear and Dudley Dursley still had not read his newspapers. He was so excited at the prospect of  _ getting them _ and reading them at least in theory, but really, there was so much to see and learn and experience right here and right now and really, but really, he could read them all when he got home. And he would. Even the Daily Prophet, which he’d decided yesterday to get, if only for the adverts and the Quidditch coverage. Because he might need the adverts. If he was maybe going to be (oh, God!)  _ working  _ in the magical world (sort of, at a magical-owned but totally non-magical winery), then he might  _ need  _ more than just an owl and some newspapers. He might need, you know, one of those suitcases. Oh, not the kind that’s an entire flat inside, and certainly not a trunk - could you just imagine that on Britrail for heaven’s sake? Or trying to deal with that on the National Express? They’d laugh you off the bus, ticket or no. But a tidy little piece of baggage only just larger than a standard briefcase? That carried everything you might possibly need?

_ Oh, sign him up!  _

But that was a bit pricey, and definitely something to discuss with Mum. Such a thing might make a very nice graduation gift in two year’s time though. 

And maybe, well, maybe he could convince Mum to have a day out in London and go to the magical quarter with him. Mrs. Berhe and Mr. Jackson had been explaining how they, as non-magical people were allowed in - how they got in, and got to the bank, exchanged money, and then got on with the business of shopping with and for their children.

He could just imagine trying to convince his mum to have lunch with him in one of the pubs there.  _ “Come on, Mum, it’s like Star Trek! Not the spaceship, but you know, landing on another planet, visiting another culture; different people, different expectations, same appreciation of alcohol.” _

Maybe he needed to work on his delivery, but maybe for Easter break he could convince her, especially if she took well to the stories he could tell from this weekend.

_ Oh, and the stories!  _

He’d taken some utterly brilliant pictures yesterday, and Harry even promised to organize the teams this morning for the pick-up game so he and anyone else with a camera could take pictures, again, provided he could have a copy, but that wasn’t a problem. He was happy to have a full set of doubles made and just send one to Harry at school, which he would, but maybe with the non-magical address in a padded envelope, because Luke Skywalker was only so big.

And he’d gotten a few more souvenirs, just essential ones, really, especially after seeing the Dunblane Dementors lose so dreadfully to the Ely Inferi, well… he had to get one of the new Pendragon Inferi jerseys, hadn’t he? It was absolutely essential, wasn’t it? And he could just pass it off as a lark to his friends at school, just a fun little regional team a distant relative played on, and then he’d also gotten some of those postcard-sized photographs, the ones that didn’t move (no sense in courting tragedy at home) and he just went ahead and got a full set, but his favorite, maybe, was with the couple in their coronation clothes and crowns and things, just standing in the midst of the standing stones, and there’s Excalibur hanging at Her Majesty’s waist, calm as can be.

But he had gone back yesterday and taken a picture. Just of the sword. In the stone. But he’d gotten permission first, from Harry, and also figured out how to actually  _ access _ the inside courtyard of the castle.

Which was rather sneaky and brilliant, really, if you were right-handed.

And so he had approached. But with reverence.

After he had pulled the giant and solid wood door closed behind him, pulling heartily on the heavy iron ring, he’d turned around and felt totally humbled, like he was entering an ancient cathedral or something.

“Um, hello,” he began, speaking to whom, he didn’t know, but just in case it helped, speaking all the same. It seemed like it might.

“I’m really very impressed and I mean no harm. I’d just like to come in and admire the space and perhaps take a picture, if that’s alright.”

There were no storms of magical beings or lightning threatening to strike, no Merfolk swimming through the air over the castle walls screaming at him to stop.

He bowed before he moved, though, just to be on the safe side.

“This is a very beautiful place, and very… sacred, clearly, and I’m honored to be here.”

At this point he was directing his words to the spirit of the stones. He didn’t know if there was one, but just in case.

“And if you’d prefer I not be here, just, um, just say so and I’ll get going. No need to strike me dead or anything.”

He hesitated again, waiting for the barest hint of a whisper, anything. A sudden darkening of the clouds. An ominous feeling. A shiver running across his skin? But no, nothing. There was nothing.

“Well, then. Right. Thank you, um, for your, uh, forbearance. Very kind.”

And then he decided to shut up and very, very carefully, walk into the stones. He avoided the center, just… just because. When magic was real, what was the place of superstition?

A thought for another time, certainly.

And then he just stood there, lost in a little bit of awe, not really thinking, not exactly. Dudley was calm and if he knew it, quite centered and focused on the present moment in the way that was all the rage in ancient religion and modern new age philosophy, both. But it was quite spontaneous for Dudley who was, though he knew it not, the intrepid hero of a story quite different than this one.

And he took his picture.

And he approached the sword in its stone with reverence. He thought to touch it but couldn’t bear the audacity of it. His mother would have. His father would have tried to remove it, just for a laugh, and would have wanted a picture of the same. But Dudley was far too aware of the habitual assumptions he was trying to break and this seemed like an important moment to act with the utmost integrity, even though no one was watching. 

Character was what you did when no one was watching. (Another dorm poster. Remarkably helpful, those encouraging posters.)

And so, knowing no one was watching, he just quietly knelt down in front of the stone with the sword in, and then bowed down further, and then in utter silence and stillness, kissed the ground on which the stone sat, and then quietly went away again, closing the iron-studded castle door firmly behind him.

And the spirit of the stone was satisfied with its choice.

* * *

Harry rolled out of bed expecting to be more sore than he was. They hadn’t had this much sex since right after they got married, but that was school for you - if you wanted to get really good grades, and he did, there just wasn’t that much time for making love. Happily, Ginny worked just as hard as he did on her studies and various projects.

He decided just then that he really needed to make more time for Ginny and encourage her to take more time for him, too. Maybe, maybe that was okay to do. Maybe she wouldn’t be mad at him or call him selfish. Not that she ever did, but it was always a concern. He certainly thought he was quite selfish, getting so much, and for no good reason.

He stretched and cracked his back and stretched some more as he went to go fetch the cup of tea that Trip had left under a warming charm for them in the other room, in their rather gigantic sitting room.

_ Ooo, cheese danish!  _

It was a bit of a trek, naked in the the nippy air, out to the sitting room to fetch the tray, and then back into the bedroom to the cosy curtained four poster bed that was their home in Wales, but it sure as hell beat a dusty closet under the stairs with a tiny cot mattress on the floor and an outer bolt on the door. The stone floor was very cold when he walked on it rather than on the rugs that were here and there, but soon enough he was pushing back the curtain on the bed with an elbow and putting the tray carefully on the gigantic bed and then very carefully climbing back in and attempting to gently wake his wife.

_ His wife!  _

He was married. It was so bizarre, but also so wonderful.

“Good morning, beautiful,” he whispered to his wife  _ who loved him  _ as he half-snuggled with her, mindful of the tray past their knees.

“Mm,” and then Ginny slurred something that might have been  _ ’morning Harry. _

“I’ve got tea and cheese danish  _ if you want some,”  _ he ended with a sing-song voice.

“You know, you’re downright cheery when you’ve had heaps of sex,” Ginny ground out, groaning and struggling to shift and become upright enough to drink tea.

He grinned. “And  _ you  _ are downright cheery when you’ve had heaps of sex and just a bit of tea. Here. I’ll pour,” he said, and then did so.

They drank their tea in silence, and it was the sort of silence you could only get during a power outage, or alone in the woods when everyone was asleep. It was so silent in their suite in the castle when they weren’t chewing or swallowing that Harry could hear the silence itself. And it was amazing and quite wonderful to be able to share this with  _ his wife. _

_ His wife! _

He was married. It was so bizarre. But also, it was so wonderful.

* * *

Draco sniffed and wrinkled his nose. And then his very sleepy brain engaged and pointed out that it seemed like something or someone was kissing his nose. Just the tip. And there it was again. And again. Perhaps attempting to open his eyes was called for at this juncture.

Oh, but he was  _ so  _ comfortable. He had slept  _ so  _ well, what sleep he had gotten. And a bit more wouldn’t go amiss.

Draco shifted comfortably back into the covers, but then there was, ugh, a bit of a draft sort of thing around his shoulders. He moaned in discontent and then gasped in pleasure as the lips moved from the tip of his nose to the tip of his right nipple. Tongue? Tongue. Hot and wet, and then cold and breezy.

Draco gasped again, his eyes opening reflexively.

“Oh, so you  _ are  _ awake,” said a dreamy voice that kept the nightmares at bay.

“I am now,” he groaned out, smiling without realizing it, and then cleared his throat.

“Orgasm or first breakfast?” she asked and when Draco looked at his betrothed, he saw that she was already in her version of a bathrobe, which was actually a sarong.

“Croissants?” he asked in a sleep gravelled voice.

She shook her head a little, saying, “Cheese danish.”

“Orgasm,” he chose easily, pulling at the knot in the cloth above her breasts and then as the material floated down to the floor behind her, pulling her back into bed, under the covers, and on top of him. He hissed in pleasure to feel her skin against his, to feel her stomach pressing against his pinned cock, her breasts pillowed delightfully against his chest.

They shifted and moved against each other, and he couldn’t get enough of her skin on his. They weren’t engaging in penetrative sex, as they both wanted to do the wedding night ritual for a peaceful family life, but there was still so much to do even without penetration, really. So much to explore. So much to  _ feel. And to sleep wrapped around her was to sleep without nightmares.  _

Perhaps being the nocturnal resident of her bed in Hogwarts would have  _ some  _ benefits.

* * *

Hermione had one leg wrapped around Viktor’s waist and was sighing his name as he slowly worked over her and within her. The fingers of one hand were buried in the hair at the back of his head, scratching and rubbing while the fingers of the other hand were clenched firmly on his perfectly round and beautifully muscled arse. He was on his elbows above her and sometimes, and just then, leaned in to kiss her slowly, his tongue matching the languid motions of his cock.

“You are my sun,” he whispered to her some moments later, “my moon, the stars of my sky. You are my home. I lack for nothing that is necessary, for you provide all that I need. I adore you, Myon.”

Involuntarily she clenched around him and he gasped in response, his thrusts becoming just a little bit firmer and faster before he slowed them back down again, and gentled them, too. He smiled down at her ruefully and she grinned up at him.

“It’s a new month,” she said on a whisper between them. “What do you want for this month?”

He raised a single eyebrow. He responded slowly, with emphasis, each word on a singular and somewhat harder and faster thrust than before.

“I-

“Already-

“Have-

“Every-

“Thing-

“I-

_ “Need!” _

Hermione gasped and clenched quite on purpose this time, rolling her hips around and begging him to go harder, but he refused, gentling his thrusts once more and instead shifting his weight all to one elbow so the other hand could be free to knead her breast and tweak her nipple just so.

But she was close, was the thing, so she kept clenching, kept writhing under him, kept swirling her hips around even as his thrusts stayed impossibly, irritatingly rhythmic and his breathing became ragged.

“My beautiful Myon,” he gasped. “I love watching your pleasure.” He gasped again. “I love feeling it from inside of you.” Still he was gasping for air, and maybe for control. Still she writhed under him. “You- you want harder and faster, but then I would be imm- immediately lost. To my own pleasure. This way-” he said, breaking off, still gasping his air but staring so intently in her eyes that the look alone almost triggered her orgasm.  _ “I get to watch, from inside,”  _ he whispered, and she couldn’t parse the look he gave her except to know that it was overwhelming in its intensity and it  _ did  _ trigger her orgasm.

She came with wordless groans and sighs, her whole body clenching and shaking around him, and then he lost his rhythm, and the gentleness of his thrusts finally well and truly disappeared as he whispered her name over and over again.  _ Myon. _

Many moments later Hermione shifted and made to move off of him. “Breakfast?” she asked with a smile.

He nodded, but then his smile turned sexy again. “But first,” he said, his arms pulling her up to encourage a very different sort of upright position,  _ “I want my first cup of tea,”  _ he said, the innocent look in his eyes not in the least hiding his new euphemism for eating her out after sex, first thing in the morning.

Hermione’s eyes flashed wide and all considerations of food faded away as she crawled up his body and positioned herself so he could eat her comfortably. Which he did. And  _ then  _ they got out of bed and had breakfast, though whether it was Viktor’s first or second, Hermione remained undecided.

* * *

Sofia sat at the dressing table, putting her earrings in as her husband towelled off his hair.

“The air here is… quite  _ invigorating,”  _ she said on a smile, looking at him through her mirror.

Gregor barked out a single laugh. “Hah! The air is nice, but not nearly so invigorating as home, my blossom. It’s that damn ritual on the lines. I’d discuss it with Viktor, but his brain is much too addled by sex right now, and if my guess is right, quite a Herculean amount of sex. I’m almost surprised both of them walk upright without limping when they emerge.”

Sofia chortled and moved to put her bracelets on. “Gregor, be kind. They are desperately in love and all tangled up in deep and ancient magics. And so were we, once. For my part, I’m surprised we see so much of them, though that might change as the Festival ends. Perhaps.”

“I’m surprised they’re waiting to take their honeymoon. It’s never been clear to me that she actually needed her last year of schooling repeated. I’m sure she could have sat her final exams without them,” Gregor said. “Not that staying in the incubator wasn’t useful, particularly the last four months, but it will chafe, I think, for the next six.”

“We shall see,” Sofia said with a tiny smile that gave her husband pause.

He narrowed his eyes at her.

“What do you know?”

“You may be the spymaster of Bulgaria, my darling man, but we are not in Bulgaria right now and I have been cultivating my own informants,” she said with a charming smile that did not entirely work on him. Entirely.

“You will not keep it from me if it is important, or if I ask?” he quizzed her, bordering but not crossing the line into interrogation.

“I would never,” she answered in all sincerity.

A small smile appeared on his face as he bent down and kissed her neck. “In that case, enjoy your intrigues, my beautiful Sofia.”

* * *

Narcissa tried not to think of Michael. The dreamless sleep helped immensely the night before, but of course her dose wore off at exactly four fifty-eight in the morning, as it should, and it only took fifteen minutes of sleep without aid of the dream-crusher to be deep in the throes of something that bordered between dream and nightmare.

Lucius was taking her from behind and Michael from the front. Lucius was being thoughtlessly cruel and heartless, as was his wont of the last ten years or so, and Michael was being so, so sweet and beautiful and kind. Her heart and her body were torn in two as the dream tipped resolutely into nightmare, and then there were two Narcissas, each being intimate with only one man, but she could feel them both, she was still both, even though she was separate. And the first Narcissa, with Lucius, was determined to enjoy her husband even if he was callous and cold, and that Narcissa grew even more callous and cold to match. And the second Narcissa, with Michael, was clinging to him as if he were air and food and life, and in the aura of his kindness and love she began to grow kinder and more loving.

And she was both. And somehow, _somehow_ _neither._

And when she woke with a painful gasp, the nightmare still living on in her mind for many long moments, her body throbbed, begging for sex. It would take the memory of Lucius, but would prefer the dream of Michael.

And so, just briefly, she allowed herself to dream.

* * *

Neville had needed to take himself firmly in hand quite a shocking number of times, now. It was fine enough during the day, and especially when there was so much to distract his attention, and there was always, always something that needed doing. But at night? Oh,  _ Merlin. _

In a way it hadn’t helped that he’d lost his virginity just recently. Well, sort of. Not that it mattered all that much. And not that he’d planned to at all, of course. Things just happened at that Christmas Party that they threw for his - his team. Viktor’s team.

_ Oh, damn.  _

Viktor.

It was better when Neville didn’t think of his name, it really was.

He was shocked at his own behavior, really he was, whenever he thought of it, so he just tried not to think of it, but then in quiet moments, of course, it all came flooding back. He couldn’t even remember their names. Wasn’t that horrible? It was totally horrible and Neville felt dreadful about it. He felt even more dreadful that each time - every single time - one had her mouth around him (for that’s all they said they wanted, and as far as any of them went), every single time he would close his eyes and picture rather a different mouth bringing him off and sucking him to completion  _ and it was just so much better when he didn’t think of his name.  _

And really, that particular bathroom saw quite a lot of varied use during the party. 

They were sweet girls, really. Two out of the three said they’d just wanted to thank him for his heroism, just a quick thank you, just something personal so he would know they really meant it.

The first time he was shocked and almost fought her off. But in the end… he didn’t.

The second time he wondered if they were colluding, but as he later considered, the prospect of free orgasms addled his brain.

The third and last time he was surprised to hear a different line and had gotten his first kiss. Well, his first, second, third, and fourth kiss. He almost remembered her name. Not quite, though. But it was the daughter of the Head Coach, that was obvious enough. So, Miss Something MacAster. And when she offered, he accepted. And afterwards when he offered, she declined, but she did it in a very charming way that perhaps promised more if he wanted it. Which seemed like a nice idea, except, well, except that half the time she kissed him and almost the entire time her lips were busy elsewhere he was desperately fantasizing about someone else.

Desperately.

_ Painfully.  _

Not a good way to begin a relationship.

But he tried. He tried to bring himself to completion thinking about Miss MacAster and her pretty eyes, the graceful way she moved, and it worked alright enough at the beginning, but about halfway through his fantasies always shifted and morphed and then it was quite predictably someone else.

Viktor.

_ Viktor. _

_ Viktor! _

Neville came with a gasp, again, and then a sob as his heart broke. Again.

He dashed the tears away and tried to pull himself together. He would get over this. He would. He would move on and it would be okay and one day, one day he would be loved intensely and beautifully by someone and he would be free to return their affection and all of this could just be a fond post-war mosh of memories.

* * *

Luna had her standard recording set up again at breakfast. This was the morning that Hermione would be opening the rest of her presents. The 31st was the presentation of the gifts of state, the 1st she opened the presents from people she knew, and the 2nd was slated to be the gifts from everyone she didn’t know, and these had all already been checked by aurors who placed on every single gift or envelope a security tag and a charm that could only be opened by Hermione - and if the tag or the charm were off, she was to set the present aside without touching it and alert the aurors. Fleur had also looked over the pile of gifts with her curse-finding spectacles on and was seated somewhat close to Hermione for breakfast, continuing to wear them on the end of her nose and nodding to confirm safety each time Hermione opened a gift.

Honestly, Luna was slightly less interested in paying strict attention this time - oh, she would look over the annotated transcript but it would very likely be all quite predictable. The Great Houses who were favorable or neutral would send useful gifts the size of which would be dependent upon the wealth of the House. Those who were opposed to Hermione politically or personally would send token gifts that might be useful, or might be simply frivolous. The Lesser Houses would send gifts along the same line, but of a much smaller magnitude. And then there would be individuals who would likely follow the same format, though it would be interesting to note if Hermione received gifts from outside Britain that  _ weren’t  _ state gifts. Given the current state of affairs, it wouldn’t be at all surprising, especially from China. Given the large number of rather identical small trunks stacked against the wall, Luna would be surprised, really, if those weren’t from the Great Houses in China.

Time would tell, and so would her transcript. But as Luna ate her muesli and basked in the glow of so many people still shining so brightly - not everyone of course, thirty-six hours later, but many people - she wondered how, exactly, she would be able to convince Draco to cohabitate with her at Hogwarts. Given the difficulty that was the Yule Ball, Luna knew that the question required some advanced planning.

The obvious answer, of course, was to get the Headmistress to agree to add a bedroom to the triad of rooms with the Pendragons, Potters, and Neville. There were several reasons why it was the best idea, of course, those suitemates being the only ones guaranteed not to hate her intended, and that suite containing the only discrete entrance via floo.

When the Headmistress came in and chose a seat at the other end of the table, Luna took her cup of tea and got up.

Approaching the Headmistress of Hogwarts was not something the average student did lightly.

“Good morning, Headmistress,” Luna said politely, still several feet away and not presuming to sit.

A single eyebrow was raised. “Is it? I hadn’t noticed,” Headmistress McGonagall responded with a perfectly even tone. Given the amount of love in the air, Luna could guess at her problems and that they began and ended with every student past puberty that travelled with the Hogwarts contingent, looked after by the Heads of House and the Deputy Headmistress.

“If I promise to solve a problem even as I create it, might I sit with you for a moment?”

The Headmistress snorted delicately and poured the tea that had appeared just in front of her. “That would be novel indeed, Miss Lovegood. Yes, you may.”

Luna spoke quietly, but the Headmistress had chosen a seat far from anyone else enjoying such an early breakfast, which was not all that difficult, given the hour. “Though we have not yet announced it, I have become engaged to a war veteran who does not reside in the castle. I will be applying to you for his residency when I return for the second term. But I do not imagine the Duke Black Malfoy will be well received in most suites, nor even walking the halls of the castle that would be necessary to attain most suites.”

The Headmistress sighed. “I might have expected this conversation, I suppose. Have you asked Her Majesty, yet?”

“Not yet, though I’m sure she’ll agree. She’s grown quite fond of us both. But I didn’t want her feeling like she had to ask you, and ask you for another favor.”

A long sip of tea. A totally blank face. But Luna wasn’t fooled by either one. The Headmistress’ job was no easy walk in the park, and Luna knew she couldn’t act on favoritism, even if she held it.

“I have no wish to relocate Mr. Longbottom, you understand,” the Headmistress said crisply.

“Yes, he’s a steadying influence, and now her personal secretary as well,” Luna agreed.

“And it’s just as well she have her brothers and her sisters-in-law close to her,” the Headmistress seemed to consider aloud, but Luna knew she was just finding the right reasons.

“It’s helping her to heal faster, which is in the best interest of, well, perhaps the world, right now,” Luna pointed out.

Another long sip of tea as Hermione continued to open presents at the other end of the table.

“Secure Her Majesty’s blessing before you submit your request to me, and do phrase it just so, Miss Lovegood, as it will go on record with the Board of Governors.”

“I will not fail to do so, Headmistress,” Luna said with a smile. “Thank you for your time, and I hope your morning gets better.” Luna wondered if she should mention something about adjusting the wards of Hogwarts, but that could only occur on the solstices, and by that time the Headmistress would know full well what needed to be done.

Luna picked up her tea, which she hadn’t drunk much of, and walked along the table until she approached her future mother-in-law, the Countess Black who also sat, at the moment, a bit isolated from others.

“May I, my lady?” Luna asked, and watched Narcissa’s face bloom into a radiant smile.

“Oh, do sit down, my darling child,” she cooed. “And none of this formality. I understand if you do not wish to call me Mother, but you must at least call me Narcissa,” she said, and kissed her on the cheek as Luna did the same.

Luna sat back and merely smiled. She would have to think about the mother question. It tugged at the heart strings, a bit, but then her own mother had been dead for many years. Then, as Saucepot approached from his place coiled up to the side of Narcissa on the table, Luna leaned forward.

“I’ll always treasure my very first proposal of marriage which came from you, Saucepot,” she said quietly, and partially for Narcissa’s benefit. “And so I wanted you to know before it was generally announced that I’ve chosen the human I wish to marry, and he’s agreed, and it is the son of your beloved Narcissa, the man named Draco.”

Saucepot said something unintelligible by either woman but also reared back and shook his head quite clearly.

“Yes, it is true, and though I am sorry you feel badly about it, I think he and I will suit very well, being the same species, and having some similar interests as well. But considering us, I hope we can always be very good friends, Saucepot, and I’ll always be honored that you wished to marry me. Can we still be friends, Saucepot?” Luna asked, and offered her open hand close to the snake.

If a snake were capable of sighing, this one did, and then very, very slowly nodded his head and slithered into and against her hand, but then past her and off the table into Narcissa’s lap where he curled up, possibly with another woeful sigh.

“It is difficult to be crossed in love, Saucepot,” the older woman murmured down to her reptilian companion.

Saucepot said something in reply that each woman could only guess at. It would be quite wonderful at least to  _ understand _ Parseltongue, Luna thought. _ Oh, well. _

“Narcissa, I have no desire to plan my own wedding.” Luna began, with her standard amount of candor. “If this isn’t something you wholeheartedly wish to take on, I was considering asking Ginny for help, since she did such a good job with Hermione’s, keeping it small and elegant. What are your thoughts on this matter?” Luna asked.

Narcissa smiled and Luna noted that it was honest, but somehow bittersweet, and Luna considered that whatever it was she was thinking it wasn’t entirely and exclusively the question that Luna had just asked. 

“I would love to plan your wedding for you and I would also love to work with Ginny. Perhaps we might do it together, if that is something she’s willing to do.”

Luna smiled softly, walking tenderly here because it was clearly evoking difficult emotions in her would-be mother-in-law.

“I’ll ask her and let you know,” she said.

Another tight smile from Narcissa that wasn’t exactly insincere, but perhaps was covering up pain and sorrow.

“My dear, I’m so glad, so very glad-” and here the Matriarch of the House of Black stopped and tried to get her emotions under control and blink away the forming tears. But of course, she didn’t have to say anything more. Luna knew. She and Draco would never treat each other the way Narcissa and Lucius had. There would be respect and love and very likely deep companionship. And it was very possible that Narcissa knew it, too.

The woman was, after all, grieving not just her recent dead, but also the wasted potential of her younger self. Not that it was a good place to dwell overlong, but sometimes one needed to grieve what might have been before one could move on to what would be.

Luna just laid her head on Narcissa’s shoulder, like she had two months before in Hermione’s study, after their second visit to Cair Paravel.

“I’m glad, too,” Luna said quietly. And then after a long moment, she put a gentle arm around Narcissa’s waist and spoke even more quietly. “Everything’s going to be alright now, Mother. You’ll see.”

A little twist of grief in Luna’s gut made itself known but she looked at it and smiled at it and let it go and in doing so could almost exactly feel her own mother leaning down and kissing the top of her head, offering her blessing.

One last tiny sniff and Narcissa changed the subject and they discussed briefly how Luna’s interviews were going and how very impressed Narcissa was in even the abbreviated ones in the daily Quibble that morning and the last.

Luna smiled and they chatted quietly for a bit before she returned to her original seat and paid slightly closer attention to Hermione, now that she was getting closer to the  _ interesting  _ stacks of trunks that the elves were now moving to the table for her.

“Hmm, this one seems to be addressed to the Bright Light of the West. Hm. Very flowery language. Pretty. It’s from the House of Chang. Hm. I wonder. Oh, my. I think it’s a small grove of trees. Possibly an orchard. Really not sure. The card does not say. Oh, dear. Take this to the head farming elf, Tippy.

“Huh. This one is also addressed to the Bright Light of the West. It’s from the House of Yi. Same style trunk. Nice trunk. I wonder. Anyway, this one is… Oh my. There’s possibly quite a lot of tea sets in here.

“Oookay, this one is also addressed to the Bright Light of the West. I’m sensing a theme, Luna,” Hermione said and Luna couldn’t help but think that she really hadn’t read her newspapers yet, and that it might help her significantly if she did so.

“Indeed, Your Majesty. You’ve made quite an impression in China,” Luna serenely pointed out.

Hermione narrowed her gaze at her for a moment, probably trying to figure out what she missed. Luna grinned.

“What am I missing, Luna?” Hermione asked point blank and Viktor as well looked up from the other side of her. There was no one else close enough to hear their conversation except possibly Fleur, who was giving them a bit of privacy by going back to the breakfast buffet just then. They had complete privacy, then, so long as they weren’t too loud. It would have been better, of course, if Hermione had had a chance to simply read the interview, brief as the first one was. It still got the point across, though of course the one in Saturday’s Quibbler would be even better.

Luna sighed a little and gave her the twenty-five word version.

A coughing fit ensued possibly because Hermione seemed to choke on her saliva. When Luna glanced over to Viktor, she saw that he’d dropped his fork with a clatter and his jaw was gaping, which really didn’t happen all that often.

“What?” Luna asked, once Hermione had stopped coughing. “You didn’t see this coming? I know your not fond of divination, Your Majesty, but other people find it quite helpful sometimes.”

Hermione drank fully half a cup of tea before responding. During this, Viktor called to a house elf and asked for the morning papers of the last two days to be brought to him. After several deep breaths Hermione finally spoke, and Luna was proud of her response; it wasn’t nearly as emotional and irrational as it might have been.

“Well. Not that I remember too much of that reception with any clarity,” she said, “but it does go a long way to explaining a few things that I do recall.”

And then Viktor very quietly read out the abridged version of the interview, and Luna smiled placidly. It was a  _ very _ good interview.

* * *

Today Elizabeth’s escort and interpreter would be a Mr. Arthur Weasley who was apparently a wizarding expert on non-magical technology, and was in addition to this, Harry’s father-in-law. But they weren’t due to meet him until after breakfast in the salon set aside for their use, after which it would be off to see the pick-up Quidditch game, then a bit of break which Elizabeth wished to use perusing the downstairs library and perhaps taking some notes on interesting titles to order upon their return to Buckingham after the holidays.

And then Elizabeth was quite interested in watching one of the magical plays. Today’s title was perhaps not encouraging, but Mr. Longbottom had assured her yesterday that  _ The Hopping Frog _ was a classic of historical fiction chronicling the spread of magic east and west, meeting and in some senses clashing in the Swiss Alps. Certainly it would be very helpful to have a bit of side commentary from Mr. Weasley during that, if it could be had without disturbing other patrons.

That would lead up until lunch, and then after lunch Hermione and Viktor would have an opportunity to sit down with Elizabeth and Charles and just have a brief moment to  _ talk. _

And then they would be off and this incredibly fascinating experience would have come to a close.

_ And what a very unusual way to ring in a new year. Or a new millenia, _ she thought as she considered her breakfast options.

It was a day for a bit of streaky bacon, perhaps, just by way of celebration; both for a wonderful weekend, and the return home again. 

She had missed Philip, and though she understood his choice, Elizabeth couldn’t help but think he would have enjoyed the Quidditch and any number of other things, and that he would have gotten on well with Viktor and Hermione.

A few eggs, some fried tomatoes, and a bit of toast rounded out her breakfast. Extravagant, perhaps, and a far cry from her usual two-toast-two-egg, but sometimes extravagance was called for.

And rest.

That was a lesson, she considered, that Hermione needed to learn rather quickly or face some rather difficult consequences, even if they did come calling like bill collectors somewhat after the fact.

Perhaps she could recruit Viktor into the effort this afternoon, and so provide Hermione with a bit more accountability and support.

Elizabeth squashed the urge to smirk.

As a matter of fact, she was absolutely certain that that strapping young man was more than up to the challenge of distracting his lovely young wife quite regularly, indeed.

Ah, to be young and in love. It was a beautiful thing, and even more importantly, convenient to her purposes.

* * *

He caught up with her just as she was leaving the table. She was headed toward the Grand Staircase and obviously back up to her suite to freshen up before getting back to work and Charlie nonchalantly joined her on the stairs, just seeming to pass the time as he did the same. Or so he hoped.

Others were near, so he said nothing but a comment on the weather as they made their sedate way upstairs and when the others who were near peeled off to destinations on the first floor, Charlie sighed quietly in relief.

“Do you have a moment?” he asked and saw very clearly the warning signals in her eyes. “Please? Just a moment?”

Silently she nodded, but he noticed it was terse.

Charlie Weasley was a man who was well acquainted with the subtle signals of anger and annoyance in a woman, he had to be, given his mother.

She followed him to the other side of the castle where his bedroom was, where she had slept for her stay.

He had thought of dozens of ways to say what he wanted to say and thrown out most of them as being totally useless. He went through a phase last night as he had lain awake, trying to create the ideal way to compliment her, to explain how he felt and where he was, but it all sounded like so much dreck.

In the end, his heart in his throat, he just took her hand, looked her in the eye and asked.

“Will you let me write to you?”

Charlie watched a variety of emotions play across her face. Confusion. Thoughtfulness. Dawning comprehension, or so he hoped.

“Yes,” was her simple, short reply and Charlie tried not to read too much into the brevity or tone.

He led her to the small but tidy little sitting room and the table he had laid his writing kit on.

As she sat down and picked up his pen, she said, “This is a non-magical address you know. No owls.”

“I’ll figure it out,” he assured her with complete certainty. “And I’ll find a non-magical address for you to reply to.” And then he added, “Should you care to,” and accidentally put his heart in the statement.

She finished writing only a moment later and recapped the pen, laying it down and standing back up again. She looked into his eyes with a clarity and directness that held not a hint of annoyance. “I would care to, so mind you find it quickly.”

And then she kissed him and Charlie Weasley was right back where he’d been the last two nights.

“July is a very long way away,” he breathed against her neck some long moments later. It wasn’t that they’d confirmed anything between them. Quite the opposite. But she had  _ mentioned  _ she had time off in July, and he had hinted broadly that he would like to spend it with her, anywhere in the world she liked.

“Six months will fly by,” she assured him breathlessly. “It always does.”

He groaned and kissed her deeply, knowing there was no time for anything else. But he would, at least, have six months worth of letters to convince her to spend her vacation with him. He wanted longer than that, of course, but they lived and worked in different countries and they both were dedicated to their jobs. But this was perhaps the first step. Not a traditional first step, necessarily, but it worked for them.

Or, he hoped it would.

* * *

“Hi, Your Royal Highness,” Tommy said, flying perhaps just a little bit unsteadily up to Viktor so they both faced the same way.

_ It begins.  _

“Call me Viktor, Tommy.”

“Okay, Prince Viktor.”

He sighed, still scanning for the snitch out of habit, though it was now crystal clear to him that he was going to lose this game, and possibly lose quite terribly.

“You can just call me Viktor while we play Quidditch, okay?”

Tommy gasped and Viktor made the mistake of glancing over at him.  _ Dammit.  _ He was the picture of perfect childhood innocence. 

“Oh, no. I couldn’t. My mum says its disrespectful.”

_ Dammit. _

Viktor sighed as Tommy chattered on for a moment about his mother’s instructions to be a good boy and when he had the chance, Viktor changed the subject. The inevitable was upon him and he faced it with dignity.

“Have you played Quidditch before, Tommy?”

“This is my first time!” he beamed happily.

_ Doomed. _

“Do you know all the rules?”

“Mm, no. But I know I have to catch the teeny shiny ball with wings. Why does it have wings?”

_ Already lost. _

Viktor settled himself as well as he could into an hour long lesson in Quidditch and considered the drills he would run Tommy through as they flew high above the game. He wondered, idly, if he would actually have to point out the snitch to him and tell him to go get it when the time came.

* * *

“Hi, Ginny!” Negash beamed up to her, flying just a little too close to the keeper, but not enough to trigger Molly’s wrath.

“Hey, Negash. Shouldn’t you be chasing the quaffle?”

“I don’t know,” he said in a worried tone which was beginning to worry Ginny.

_ Viktor had mentioned this. Be strong! Be strong, Weasley! _

“His Royal Highness’s friends are… pretty big. And so are your brothers.”

_ Counteract it! Counteract it! _

“I don’t know,” she said, her tone upbeat and her eyes still on the action and watching her husband and Draco weave in and out throwing each other the ball like they’d been doing it for years. “Badgers are much smaller than lions, but they’re pretty fearless. Tough little guys. Just like you.”

“Yeah!  _ Yeah! I’m a ferocious badger!”  _ Negash yelled and it was the most patently adorable thing Ginny had  _ ever witnessed. _

_ Fuck. _

And then Draco tossed him the ball as he whizzed by, Negash caught it perfectly, chucked it with stunningly good accuracy through the farthest hoop, and then threw up his hands in the air, whooped for joy and cried out,  _ “ten points for Team Black! Hooray! We’re on the board! Hooray!”  _ He wiggled his arms back and forth as he cried out in joy, and nearly fell off his broom.

_ Fuck.  _

Ginny took a deep breath. “So, Negash. Which sport did you play before you left for Hogwarts?”

“American Baseball!” he beamed. He was happy, innocent, and as good as any countercharm in existence. Kryptonite, her husband would say. “I was first base! I mean, I started in the outfield when I was six, but by the time I left for Hogwarts I was first base! My favorite team is the Seattle Mariners,” he burbled happily. “Which one do you like best?”

_ Fuckity fuck fuck fuck. Harry had Kryptonite. They were going to lose. _

* * *

Negash and Tommy had each been given a little pocket money and set loose on the circus with solemn promises to come back and meet their families in the Curtain for lunch. They each still proudly wore their Team Black jerseys, which, with their mothers’ permission, Madam Krum had charmed permanently. 

After perusing the vendors for the best ice cream flavor - Negash bought Choco-Dreamy-Swirl, and Tommy Pistachio Pinchers - they headed toward the big tent, but Negash was worried.

“Do you think His Highness let us win?”

“Nope,” Tommy said in complete certainty.

“I mean, we played just like His Grace, er, Harry said we should. And it was hard to keep talking and still make goals. Not supposed to do that in baseball. Talk during a game. Unless you’re cheering your team on, of course. I guess that’s kinda what we were doing.”

“It worked just like Harry said it would,” Tommy pointed out, somehow getting ice cream on his ears, and his left elbow. “Why are you worrying about it?”

“Well, if he let us win, then was it a real win?” Negash pushed, delicately eating his ice cream and getting it neither on his earlobes nor his elbows, though he had extra serviettes just in case.

“He didn’t let us win. Harry said he would never  _ let  _ someone else win. He would just refrain from devouring us,” Tommy parroted back.

“But didn’t he tell you where the snitch was?”

“Yup. And then we raced there. And I won. He coulda won, but he didn’t.”

Negash looked at his friend askance.

“He let us win,” Negash said, defeated despite the celebratory post-game chocolate ice cream.

“Nope,” Tommy replied, all confidence. “He just refrained from devouring us. Big difference. ‘Sides, you got all those goals fair and square. You’ve got a really good arm, Negash. Will you teach me how to throw like you do?”

And then their debated win was forgotten as Negash once more described the wonder and joy that was American baseball and both agreed that Tommy should get a glove with his parents so that they could play catch together when they got back to school.

* * *

Hermione was enjoying a quiet moment (relatively speaking) to wander the Festival with Viktor. She hadn’t really gotten a quiet moment with him outside of their bedroom (and their encounter in the Roman Bath yesterday), unless you counted the actual wedding ceremony and the seating ceremony. Which she didn’t. And it wasn’t quite that this was private. But it was still enjoyable, and there were no professional photographers in sight. 

They were at the circus again. Today’s was  _ The Most Wonderful Circus In The World _ and it was naturally American. If you’d asked Hermione in advance what she would be sure not to miss in the Festival, she likely would have told you the plays. They were all based in history, however many liberties would have been taken, and they were all stories that the magical community took for granted, much like she grew up with Monty Python, Star Wars, and Indiana Jones. It was a prime opportunity, she would have told you with great confidence, to learn more of the culture she had one and a half feet in. But plays largely required you to arrive at a certain time and stay put for hours on end in order to get their full effect. It was a luxury Hermione could not actually afford this weekend. What she had instead was a buzzing mind and very small chunks of time when she was not required to do something somewhere else. And wandering through a circus was just perfect for that.

The French circus on the first day was probably her favorite, for all that she was at it at the height of her anxiety. Still. No one was trying to kill her, nor Harry, and it just… it felt like the sort of thing they should have been doing all along.

But really, each one had its merits, not only because of the people she wandered with. The French circus with Harry. The British circus with Elizabeth. The American circus with Viktor.

“Have you ever been to the US?” she asked her… well, her  _ husband  _ quietly. Dear Lord, they were married. That would take a while to sink in.

“Mm,” he answered with a little shake of his head as they watched the acrobats perform quite magnificently on aerial silk.

“Me neither,” she whispered back, honestly not sure if she wanted to go. Odd place, America. But large, and diverse at least.

A little tell-tale pop of a house elf appearing next to her had Hermione looking down to see Tampy in her tie-dyed pillowslip with a letter in her hand. The house elf held it up silently. Hermione wondered who on earth- but how many people could- Narcissa, perhaps? Oh, dear…

Hermione took the letter and leaned down to whisper to Tampy, “Wait a moment, won’t you?” 

Tampy nodded silently her assent.

* * *

_ January 2, 200_  
_ _ Cair Paravel, Wales _

_ Dearest Sister, _

_ Getting a quiet moment to ask a favor of you was a fool’s wish, and I see that now. All the same, I’m hoping you’ll allow Mr. Dudley Dursley to stay on another night. We get on remarkably well, he and I, and I think I can groom him to become my next vineyard manager in Burgundy, which he seems keen on, and which I am desperate for. Francois is quite seriously threatening retirement and I’m at my wits’ end. I’ll whisk him away tomorrow morning after breakfast to tour the fields and get to know people and I promise to figure out where he lives and get him back there in one piece, returning in time for dinner. _

_ Also, I’ve accepted Miss Lovegood’s suit, though we won’t announce it until dinner tonight. Didn’t want to steal your thunder. I have accepted that she may be the best thing for me, and that you are an insufferably correct know-it-all. Wallow in it, do.  _

_ Send your blessing via elf, would you? _

_ D _

* * *

Hermione tamped down her smirk and leaned back down to her house elf. “Please let Draco know it’s fine.”

Tampy nodded and disappeared with a small popping noise.

When Hermione was settled back next to Viktor, folding the letter back into shape, he leaned over to her ear and spoke quietly.

“All is well?” he asked gently.

She smiled and nodded, then handed him the letter. He read it quickly and folding it, handed it back. And then she lost herself again in the beauty and the form of the acrobats for a little while. But soon enough a tiny fractal of annoyance filtered up through the surface.

It did make sense, though. Draco had demonstrated maturity, remorse, a desire for a different way of being. Why couldn’t Mr. Dudley Dursley?

_ Oh, so everyone who was a right arse to Harry can just get off free?  _ A niggling little voice in the back of her mind would not let it go.

_ It was Harry who wanted him invited in the first place,  _ she argued back.  _ If Harry can forgive and forget, certainly I can. _

Incoherent grumblings were all that was left in her internal space, but regardless of being right, it didn’t feel like a victory. It felt like just one more inconvenient and uncomfortable reality of her life, somehow.

And she should have been happy. She really  _ should  _ have been. She was married to the man she loved, surrounded by friends and family,  _ she had her parents back and they had forgiven her.  _ She had strong women to hold her up on their shoulders, strong men to support her in doing good in the world, she was almost literally drowning in adorable kittens of every size, and she had just been given immense political power to be a force for good in the world. She had gotten more orgasms in the last seventy-two hours than she frankly could have imagined. She had pretty things, a comfortable life, and the prospect of an ancient library and another ten decades in which to study it.

She really  _ should _ have been happy.

So why was she standing at a circus watching beautiful performers doing amazing things, mentally doing her own summersaults of anxiety and unhappiness?

Hermione shoved the tiny realization away again and continued to should on herself.

She  _ should _ be happy. Therefore she  _ would  _ be happy. Right now she was going to be happy. Everything was perfectly lovely and Hermione was happy.

This was the exact moment that Viktor glanced over at her, frowned slightly, and with a brief look asked wordlessly if she was alright.

Hermione beamed back at him. Everything was perfectly lovely and she was happy.

Viktor only looked more concerned, but turned back to the performance in the circus ring, choosing, apparently, not to question the rather less convincing performance that was occurring right next to him. Or at least, choosing not to question it in public.

* * *

Father Michael Fielding was strolling through the merchant area and wondering at the whims of fate. Was it all immutable Providence? He didn’t really believe that. His not-exactly-heretical and not-entirely-orthodox views on Universal Salvation aside, he believed very firmly in free will. Besides, Calvinistic Determinism left a bad taste in his mouth, like too much spellcasting and not enough sleep. No, he didn’t assign an anthropomorphic personification to fate, but it was a convenient way of acknowledging the chaos created by so many people exercising their free will all at once, with all the attendant consequences.

Walking next to Father Michael Fielding, close but not touching, and both with their hands clasped before them in a very correct fashion, was Narcissa Black.

Well, Malfoy.

Internally, he sighed. What an utter prick Lucius Malfoy had been. A self-absorbed nightmare of good breeding, good taste, and absolutely shite morals. But it would have done no good to have warned the lady he courted about her other suitors; the whole point was that she had a choice to make and it was hers to make.

And he had had a choice to make too, though it came a little later. Could he have answered the call to priesthood with a young wife from an old wizarding family so set in their ways? Would she have supported his studies at Cambridge? Would she have taken the opportunity to… no. No. Such speculation lived in the land of  _ what ifs,  _ and the road there was filled with potholes and mantraps.

“So it all comes to a grinding halt at sunset. What, four fifteen?” he asked, continuing their occasional conversation.

“Yes,” she agreed and he wondered if there was something in her tone. Wistfulness? Or was that his own desire to hear it there? “The merchants will have the same extra hour afterwards to pack up and evacuate to the exit zones at the back of the Great Lawn, the same as all those who have loaned housing to the semi- and non-magical folk. The large marquees will be gone in the hour after that, leaving only the Quidditch pitch and stage. In the third hour there will be the final auror sweeps and the reinstatement of wards for the property. By six thirty it should be more or less pristine once more.”

“But that’s not the end of the work,” he prompted.

The quick smile she gave him made his heart leap. “No, of course not. Then comes the gestures of gratitude. Everyone who willingly came forward to help is on one list, they get a small token. Everyone who had their arm twisted is on another list, they get a short note. Everyone gets another mention in the daily news, though I think perhaps the Quibble. And then comes the tally of favors. No, it will be another month complete to sort it all out, I think. Time well spent, I should say.”

There was silence as they walked, but the silence was very comfortable and filled with things that they were not yet close enough to say.

But there were a few things, perhaps, that it would be polite to say.

“May I enquire as to the period of your mourning?” It would be for her sister and her husband, and she could choose between discrete lengths of time that would have great meaning and speak volumes concerning her relationship with them. And she could, if she chose, serve her mourning concurrently or in serial fashion. If she had truly been devoted to each, she could spend two years dwelling on the past and mourning what might have been, two years for each. And if the relationship had been very hard indeed, she could spend three months altogether in order to sort out her life before moving on.

“A little under three months remains,” she replied quietly. 

_ Oh-ho!  _ he thought in triumph without meaning to do so. But she had told him everything he needed to know for the present and inquiring further would have been both rude and pointless. The whole purpose of mourning, at least for those who are not in it, was to give space before the rest of the world intrudes again.

“I hope your time will be well spent,” he said quite correctly, at least, correctly for those who have  _ complicated _ grief.

“I’m sure it shall,” she replied, and if he wasn’t mistaken there was a note of self-satisfaction there that made him want to grin, however much he refrained in the moment.

They were quiet again as they walked, not interacting with any of the displays, nor purchasing any souvenirs, just walking, just looking, just refraining from saying all the things they had to say to one another. He considered remarking favorably on her son, but he hadn’t really had a chance to speak with him much. He considered remarking on Hermione, but she didn’t seem like the right choice for casual conversation in the midst of a crowd of strangers. He considered remarking on many things, but decided instead to let the silence lie still. He couldn’t say what he truly wanted to, so Michael Fielding decided to simply refrain. It was enough to see her again, to have gotten an opportunity to reconnect with her, even if it was during her period of mourning.

And that would soon end. And then? Well, he would be around. If he wasn’t very much mistaken, there was still the same chemistry between them, but what they both chose to do with that information… only time would tell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? You know I love to hear them.
> 
> ...So my husband asked me over dinner, 'Did Viktor really have to point out the snitch?'
> 
> 'Oh, so much worse than that,' I said, and then I recounted the scene to him.
> 
> * * *
> 
> "Oh, look. The snitch," said Viktor.
> 
> "Oh. Huh," said Tommy.
> 
> "When you see the snitch, you should generally try to catch it," Viktor pointed out, leaving the nuances of nonchalantly ignoring it if your team is down more than 150 points for a second lesson.
> 
> "Oh, right. Okay. Thanks," said Tommy.
> 
> "Don't you think you should try to go catch it? Look, it's over there now," said Viktor.
> 
> "Oh, wait, what, you mean right now?" asked Tommy.
> 
> "I'll race you to it," egged on Viktor.
> 
> "Oh, great!" said Tommy, still not moving toward the bloody snitch.
> 
> "Okay, GO!" yelled Viktor, not even once rolling his eyes or sighing, but flying relatively slowly to remain neck and neck with the eleven year old and then at the last minute falling behind because clearly Harry had remembered exactly Viktor's strategy and had just used it against him. It was clever, and it was also very annoying.


	57. Chapter 49: Wherein life returns to quiet. Largely.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the last day of the festival, most of the Curtain guests say their farewells and those who remain are doing their thing which, of course, varies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can attest that the last two sections in particular are a very helpful pick-me-up on a rough day. Thus said my husband over dinner last night. My husband, who is a US Postal Worker.
> 
> Aaaanywhoozle, I hope you enjoy the chapter. It's a bit on the long side, if you hadn't noticed the word count.

It was in the middle of farewelling Molly and Arthur that the entire group of them was distracted by the scream of her owl as he flew into the Great Hall. Hermione raised her arm for Postmaster General to land on and neatly caught the letter he released to her just at the last moment with her left hand. She cooed at him for a brief moment and he seemed to revel in her affection before she tossed him back up in the air to give him a boost in his flying. She pocketed the extremely small scroll without looking at the seal. It could only have come from one address.

“I’m so sorry for the interruption,” Hermione said, turning back to the Weasleys with a smile. “And I’m so glad you were able to be our guests, and that you were kind enough to be so helpful to us. Thank you.”

Viktor thanked Molly for adding greatly to their potions stores. Hermione happened to know that he’d planned for most emergencies, still there was no harm in being very well prepared.

“Well, well,” said Arthur Weasley with a grin. “There are others waiting to say goodbye, so I’ll just say, well, that is - I’m glad things are turning out well for you, Hermione. Your Majesty. I hope you’ll be very happy.”

Hermione had already put her left arm back in the crook of Viktor’s elbow, so she just smiled and thanked him and expressed a wish that everyone would have time enough now to rebuild and be happy in peace.

And then it was a series of Viktor’s friends who were taking their leave, and while each one bowed politely to Hermione, Viktor got solid hugs and kisses on both cheeks from every single one of them and it made Hermione think that they would need be quite intentional about having his friends visit often, especially she had realized, Mikhail, his best friend from school, and Alexi, his childhood best friend.

And, of course, her in-laws, who might be the most sane adults Hermione had ever met. Outside of her own parents, of course.

And then it was Father Michael who was leaving and it was Hermione who initiated the hug, and when he whispered in her ear, _“You’re going to be okay,”_ that was when she almost couldn’t keep a sob inside, a sob that came up from nowhere and then seemed to recede back into the same place again. But she had to take a moment in the midst of the hug, a moment to just take a deep breath and try to get herself under control again.

There were so many people, _so many people,_ and they all left between the hours of two and four.

Augusta Longbottom was brusque and formal, but for all of that Hermione knew there was great kindness and clarity within.

Charlie Weasley was oddly enigmatic and intense in his thank yous and Hermione wished, not for the first time, that she’d been able to spend just a bit more time with the various groups of her guests. Well, most of them, anyway.

When Ron and Hanna - not a couple that looked like they had hit it off particularly well over the weekend, but whatever, it was really none of her business - said their goodbyes for a half a heartbeat Hermione wondered if he’d been about to hug her, but that was about the time when Viktor had quite possessively put his left hand over hers as it lay gently in the crook of his arm. It was an extremely small gesture, but perhaps an extremely effective one, and Hanna, bless her, covered it all over with a quiet but apparently sincere word of thanks.

And that was when Hermione realized that she felt a million miles away, like someone else was standing in her place, sending her a transcript of what was going on, and with only very few exceptions, as when she almost started sobbing in the arms of her priest, she felt rather like all of this was happening to someone else.

In a brief break between people taking their leave Viktor leaned down and spoke very quietly in her ear.

_“Not much longer now, Myon,”_ came his comforting whisper. _“When all is done, let us go catch our breath by the sea, at the cottage, before dinner, yes?”_

She sighed and her shoulders released tension she hadn’t realized was there. She nodded silently as another person approached, all smiles. Kingsley Shacklebolt, in politician mode. Or was that too harsh? Perhaps. Perhaps she wasn’t thinking quite clearly. Perhaps she did actually need rest from the whirlwind. Perhaps.

Then it was Minerva who, despite that like Augusta was not leaving by floo, still came over to take her leave properly from her hosts.

“Your Majesties,” she said with a slight bow. “Thank you for hosting me. It’s a joy to reside however temporarily in a castle which doesn’t talk back.”

Hermione giggled, and though she didn’t think much about it at the moment, was completely present and quite happy. Still, it was Viktor who did the talking, who thanked Minerva for celebrating their wedding, and when he was finished, Minerva smirked and it was so much more comforting than all of the twinkling eyes the old Headmaster had ever had.

“You are quite welcome. The pleasure was entirely mine. Now. I will have all manner of academic-” and here her eyes widened dramatically at Hermione, who could barely keep in the laughter, “-and residential thing to discuss with you, so you may expect my owl in a few days’ time.” Then she bowed again and was off across the Great Hall and out the front door.

But then Hermione seemed to float away again, far from her body standing there with Viktor and even though she was aware of smiling pleasantly and politely accepting peoples’ gratitude as they left, she couldn’t remember a thing anyone said the moment after they said it. When the flood let up Viktor murmured that they would stay a moment longer for anyone else. Hermione took the opportunity to read the letter that her owl had delivered perhaps an hour earlier. Knowing who it would be from, she tilted it so that Viktor could read it easily and so that he would know she was inviting him to do so.

* * *

_January 2, 200_  
_ _Lyme Cottage  
_ _Little Puncknowle-on-the-Sea_

_Your Royal Majesty,_

_Please forgive my delay in answering as I was away visiting relatives until this afternoon._

_I will be very happy to call upon you and help where I can. Your letter indicated the morning of 3 January as most convenient. I will arrive via floo at 10 AM._

_Yours sincerely,  
_ _NF Scamander_

* * *

“Who is this?” Viktor asked quietly, not whispering but not loud enough for the easy echo of the large stone room to pick it up.

“Animal expert,” Hermione murmured. “Minerva recommended him.”

“Mm. Good. We need a zoo, I think.”

“Yes, probably,” Hermione answered, trying desperately not to think of the great volume of organization that was going to be required for, really, all of her gifts. Some were fun and exciting, to be honest. And most were just totally overwhelming.

“Tomorrow morning we deal with animals. The fourth we deal with plants in the morning. But the afternoons, we take Elizabeth’s advice, yes?”

Hermione sighed. “But there’s so much to _do,”_ she responded, her tone plaintive. 

“And there are many days to do it in,” Viktor pointed out quietly. “Does not all need to happen at once. Animals are imperative. Plants only slightly less so. Everything else can wait two days.”

Just then, Tampy popped in next to Hermione, holding the tips of her ears in her hands with a distinctly worried look on her face.

“What’s wrong?” Hermione asked quietly.

“Midnight is being a bad kitty, Miss. Won’t stay sleeping by the fire with Morning, Miss.”

“Where’s he going, then?” Hermione asked.

“To Miss Ginny’s room, Miss.”

“Large cats are often solitary,” Viktor murmured next to her. “If he has bonded with Ginny…”

Hermione nodded and thought for a moment. She had _rather_ liked the idea of two magical tigers of her very own, but if the male had bonded with Ginny, it was probably best the would-be mated pair not be together _all_ the time, lest they be _swimming_ in magical tigers in ten years.

Finally, she decided. “Leave him be for now, and let Trip know and share with him what Charlie Weasley told us about raising them, alright? I’ll talk with Ginny later and make sure she’s okay with this. And help is coming tomorrow. We’ll know more then.”

Tampy looked visibly relieved. “Yes, Miss,” she said, and left as abruptly as she came.

It was a moment or two more as they stood in quiet and Hermione was left to her own thoughts, which were swirling and quite uncomfortable. In fact, she just felt uncomfortable in her own skin.

“Will you run on the beach with me?” she asked Viktor quietly and was relieved to hear his simple affirmative in reply. Not that she seriously imagined he would say no, but still.

“Come, we go,” Viktor said after another moment and the two walked arm in arm up the staircase to their suite. And of course, _of course,_ upon approaching the bedroom, even at four in the afternoon, Hermione rather wanted to climb him like a tree. And yet… And yet, something held her back. She needed perhaps to go for a run more.

Which she never would have imagined likely.

When the door was closed behind them, though, something shifted and she began to shake, and then to cry. Viktor held her and didn’t ask questions, which was just as well. Hermione had no idea why she was crying - she had felt perfectly fine. A little out of it, perhaps, but essentially fine. And yet the tears still flowed until she sobbed so much her head ached. When she finally stopped crying, she groaned.

“Ugh. Headache potion, and then perhaps just a walk on the beach,” Hermione said, revising her plan.

“Yes, this is good,” Viktor replied softly, still holding her. “And we talk on the beach, mm? Is long overdue.”

Hermione looked up at him, wary of the phrase _long overdue._ “You’re not mad at me, are you?”

His little smile down at her was half a grin. “This you would have noticed much earlier, Myon.”

Hermione thought briefly of what life was like when Viktor was, in fact, mad at her, and realized whatever it was it couldn’t possibly be that. When Viktor was angry there was no confusing that emotion with anything else, and that was true whether or not he was saying anything at all. Recognition of this flitted across her face, she was sure, but she stayed for the moment in his arms before seeking out the temporary relief of the headache potion and the less temporary relief of yet another talk with Viktor as they walked along the shore of the sea and swam in their own metaphorical ocean at the same time. 

* * *

“I mean, but it’s not his fault, you know?” Harry asked as he walked between Helen and William, ostensibly to have a look about as people were packing up and getting gone, but really, as Harry realized, to talk about, well, some things. “And I think he really is changing, I mean, and that’s what we want, right? I mean if I woke up one day and realized I’d been a total tosser and then decided, ‘right, don’t want to be that way anymore,’ and changed my tune, well, I would hope people would take me at my word, you know? I might have to make some amends, but he’s doing that, too, I think.”

“Oh, Harry,” Helen said gently, “you have a big heart. It’s a beautiful thing to be able to forgive. Eventually. We just don’t want to see you get hurt again.”

He grinned ruefully and ducked his head. “‘S’alright. Not like I’m going back to Little Whinging. Ever.”

“Do you miss it?” William asked.

Harry shook his head. “Nope.”

“Is there anything you left there that you might want? We could go get it for you,” Helen pointed out.

Harry shook his head again, and remembered to answer verbally. “That’s… that’s a really nice offer. Thank you. But it’s not necessary. I’m sure they’ve already tossed anything I left. Nah, I’ve got everything I need, now. Mementos of a rotten childhood were best tossed in the bin anyway.”

Helen put her arm around his shoulder and half hugged him as they walked. “You’re awfully young to be so jaded.”

“I’m awfully young to be so old,” Harry quipped and then wondered if that even made any sense. Well, it had in his head. But the half hug felt just fine.

“Have you thought about our offer?” William asked as they stopped to watch the calm water of the lake, rather than people packing up and leaving.

Harry nodded, but he couldn’t speak past the lump in his throat. 

He knew what he ought to say. 

He knew what he wanted to say.

He had no idea how to say either one.

* * *

“Well, it’s better than I thought it would be,” Bill responded quietly to his wife as they took their tea and nibbles in the winter garden at the center of the Roman building, and in truth, all alone. But with the hubbub of so many leaving, it was hardly a surprise.

Fleur just smiled enigmatically.

“Nice to have the family around, and yet, be… diluted by others. If you know what I mean,” he said.

Fleur nodded. “There was no pressure to be the eldest child. You could just be… you.”

He smiled in relief and took a sip of tea. She understood. She usually did.

“I was not sure what to expect of the festival, but it was quite pleasantly full of diversions, no?” she asked.

Bill smiled a bit and prepared a muffin with some butter. There were other things he might discuss with her, but later, after they left in a week. It would be foolish to talk about their hosts or any guests beyond his family while still guests themselves. But there, too, it was better than he’d thought it would be.

Here, with just the smaller houseparty, Bill didn’t feel like he had to be always half on guard against other people being stupid about his wife. And he felt less judged here, for his scar. He was hardly the only scarred one here, after all. And the Queen didn’t have to show her scar - arguably more painful and humiliating than his own - but she did, during the coronation, and to everyone. You couldn’t have missed it. She practically rolled up her sleeves and shoved it under everyone’s nose.

If Bill had had a scar like that, he was almost certain he would have never shown anyone.

And Harry’s scar - shit. Not the one on his forehead, though of course there was that one. But the one on his arm? Bill had seen it when he was in the Roman Bath with him that first time and had found a moment to ask Ginny about it on the quiet a day or so later. A defence professor had tortured him during a detention.

It blew the mind. Had the Headmaster known about that? He couldn’t have known about it. Surely he wouldn’t have let it happen. Surely he would have punished and fired the professor in question. Surely…

Merlin. It just hurt to think about it.

And then Fleur caught him up in conversation again, about their next field assignment that they would be preparing for when they returned from vacation. They would be travelling together to Peru to study under a Master Curse Breaker, and working through a recreated set of deadly traps on a funerary temple that Master Loquxti had once broken on behalf of Gringotts. It looked to be challenging work and they were both quite excited for the opportunity.

* * *

“Oh. Hello. Didn’t mean to interrupt. Looking for the ground floor library. Have I finally found it?” Dudley asked, and then wondered if he ought to have tacked on a ‘Your Grace’ in there somewhere. Probably. Probably right at the beginning. Damn. He was quite shite at this, really, and as friendly as they had been, he still wanted to make a good impression on the man who might employ him after all.

And bloody hell, he still needed to learn French. Couldn’t let that get caught up and lost in the shuffle of getting back to Little Whinging. There would likely be some good times talking with Mum and some rather more difficult ones with Dad. Oh, well. He could probably avoid most of that. Could shut himself up in his room and claim to be studying. Hell, he could nip out to a book store and get a couple of volumes on learning French and the idiot’s guide to making wine and he could _actually_ study, and thus avoid his father, really, until it was time to go back to Uni. 

“No, you’re in the right place,” Draco, who had apparently been made a duke right along with Harry - and God, Mum was going to flip over the pictures - said, looking up from a book which he then closed and put to one side. “Are you looking for anything in particular?”

Well, he hadn’t had anything firmly in mind, not really, but now that he was posed with the question, all he could think about was Calpurnia and Carys and Dorentio, those nice centaurs and merfolk he’d met during the reception. He’d learned a lot about their culture during the night but to be honest, he couldn’t remember most of the details.

“Um, something about the culture of the other magical sentient beings, you know? Like the Centaurs and the Merfolk. And the Elves,” he added belatedly, because Tolkien had obviously gotten everything exactly wrong and Dudley was keen to see what was right.

His Grace lifted his eyebrows. “Good luck. Such books are thin on the ground and while I’m sure Hermione has what’s been written on the subject, though likely in her private library... But I’m quite sure it’s all so much rot.”

Dudley blinked. “What?”

And then his future employer explained that relations were strained, information was not generally forthcoming, even from the elves, and that what he’d seen at the ritual was really quite unique.

Strained relations? _Really?_

Dudley accepted it as the truth, even as he struggled to process his own experiences of remarkable openness.

“What?” the other man prompted, while waving him to a nearby chair. It was big and squashy and Dudley half wanted to flop in it sideways, but restrained the urge and sat on the edge instead.

Dudley took a deep breath, not wanting to be argumentative, but still so very confused. “At the reception I met two centaurs about our age and a delightful mer-uh-woman and we drank and talked until God knows when. And we mostly talked about the difference in our cultures, I mean, me as a normal person, which they weren’t used to, and obviously I had no idea about them. And, I mean, it was fine. Really it was awesome. Not that I remember everything so clearly - there was a _lot_ of wine. But I thought maybe I could fill in the gaps that I don’t quite remember, you know?”

Dudley was the recipient of an extremely careful gaze.

“How interesting,” Draco commented somewhat blandly, Dudley thought, but then changed the subject before he said anything interesting in return. “You won’t find what you’re looking for here, my friend. But there are plenty of titles and one of them might interest you after all,” he said, gesturing with his own book before opening it back up again with a smirk and apparently losing interest in conversation altogether.

Dudley tried to let it go and instead studied intently the various titles until he found one that piqued his interest. _Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them._ He sat down with the slim volume with half a thought that he’d be able to finish it in not much time at all, but he couldn’t quite get the Duke Black Malfoy’s smirk out of his head.

It meant something, surely?

* * *

“I am not one of your spies, Gregor,” Sofia said, smirking. 

Rarely would they speak so openly about such things, even in Bulgarian, but they both knew that the security threat had just recently been removed from the Roman Bath House, and thus the steam room in which they currently sat, with only towels wrapped around themselves. More importantly, there would have been no opportunity for deep and difficult charms to have been placed back on the area by any enemies of their new daughter. Of course, they still did a battery of twenty-one separate charms each dawn of the festival around the inside perimeter of the enclosure, and there were a few interlopers on a slow creep with a timed release that they did away with the first day, and then informed the Head Elf of Pendragon directly. Of course it was too late for the elf to register an opinion on what should be done, as the Krums had already dispatched _Eye for Eye_ to each of the three senders _,_ which was a charm that rendered the sender of the curse similarly cursed, though only for a period of seven days and to a somewhat lesser degree. This somewhat kindly modification was unfortunately useless in the case of inherently permanent and mono-strength curses, like any variety of killing ones. One was dead, or one was not. One was very rarely mostly dead, and never for seven days.

Ah, it was something they would discuss with Viktor before they left, but it need not happen so soon. They would continue their patrol, and continue to update the Head of Grounds in the Head Elf’s absence.

Her husband took up her left hand and kissed the tip of one finger after another, bringing her out of her protective thoughts.

“Sofia, _Sofia,”_ he said, his tone placating and full of romance, if not seduction. “I promised never to use my techniques on you, and I am not. I am just plainly asking.”

“Yes, but you want me to tell you everything,” she complained.

“Mm, yes. For preference,” he said with a charming smile.

She rolled her eyes. “I have not yet decided what to tell you and I am unlikely to do so today. Unless of course you can come up with more specific questions, which I may decide to answer.”

Gregor laughed and it did her heart good to hear it, short though it was. “Ah! But I did not want you to feel interrogated. Fine. I will ask my questions. Do you have any reason to suspect this Countess of schemes active or passive against our daughter?”

“No. Quite the opposite.”

“Explain this please, my blossom,” he said.

“She bore the scars of a dark wedding night ritual, and her husband only died within the month, and she is nearly through her mourning already. No, I believe it took great strength to break away before his death and now that she is truly free, there is none of this sort of thing to fear from her.”

Gregor made understanding noises, but Sofia kept on thinking quietly as they sat in the blissful heat.

As she stared at the red curtains before her, Sofia thought of many things, but mostly she thought of the fact that Hermione might need a spymaster as well, and that Narcissa, with proper training, might possibly be the best candidate.

* * *

“It’s okay to say no. It’s okay to say yes. It’s okay to tell us you’re not ready to answer yet,” came the soft and loving voice behind him that really was entirely too good to be true.

Harry wrapped his arms a little tighter around his own torso and tried to keep the tears at bay as he looked out onto the placid lake and away from anyone who might be watching. Including his sister’s parents. And depending on how he answered, his… own… parents.

And then he couldn’t keep the sobs from coming out, from shaking him and so then there was the added level of shame on top of a desperately agonizing situation.

“Oh, Harry, come here,” William said and pulled him into his arms, but Harry was torn and tucked his face into Dr. Granger’s neck even as he clung to him.

_“Reporters,”_ he said on a hitched breath between sobs. And then there was a hand, a softer, smaller hand stroking his head and the back of his neck.

“I’ll keep a lookout, sweeting, and seize their film if they try. I promise I can run faster than they can,” Helen said, and Harry brokenly laughed at the image of the sweet and kind Dr. Helen Granger assaulting a reporter on his behalf. _Well, it was clear where Hermione got it from, that was one thing,_ a rather detached part of himself thought. But sure enough Helen had shifted so she could easily see behind them now, and had stuffed a handkerchief in one of his fists before she returned to stroking the back of his head and neck.

It felt like love.

Harry cried all the harder.

He was waiting, of course, for the polite distancing, the pat on the back and awkward reassurances that the Headmaster and his Godfather had been so good at the few times Harry had dared to be so honest, so raw. He waited, and waited, and waited. Except in most recent history, that was how these sorts of embraces ended. Ginny had never put him off that way. Nor had Viktor, come to think about it. But still, Harry waited for the inevitable.

And there it was. The pat on the back. Well, sort of. Helen was rubbing his back now and it was actually a bit… well, nice. 

“Whatever you need, son. We’ll do our best to get you whatever you need,” William whispered, his deep voice setting Harry off into another round of crying, because, because…

_Son._

_“Yes, please!”_ Harry wailed softly, his voice unrecognizable to his own ears.

And then William’s arms were all the tighter around him and Helen was whispering kind and gentle promises. 

_“I will love you forever. I will do my best to give you all that you need. And when we get angry at each other, I’ll love you all the more, not less,”_ she said, whispering directly into his ear. _“I told Hermione the same thing when she was born, and it’s no less true for you. I’m only grateful I didn’t have to deal with pregnancy twice.”_

And then she kissed the side of his head, above his ear.

Harry looked up and over to her, but his glasses were totally fogged with all the crying. He pulled away from William and blew his nose, but of course he was still sort of crying and now he couldn’t breathe and he couldn’t see. Helen pulled him into a hug all the same. It was silent for a long moment, but then William spoke quietly to the both of them.

“Just so we’re all clear on this, I can’t outrun reporters.”

It was funny. It wasn’t _that_ funny, but Harry found himself laughing a bit, and then laughing so hard he couldn’t cry anymore.

Helen was grinning at him as she pulled back and wiped some tears away with her thumb. “Come on, sweeting,” she began. “Let’s go find that beautiful wife of yours and warn her she’s got more in-laws to deal with.” She hooked her arm in his and steered him toward the castle.

William was on his other side and plucked his glasses from his face and cleaned them off with a fresh handkerchief before handing them back again. “Now, what’s this about eloping? Who’s idea was that, then?” he asked, but he sounded amused rather than annoyed.

Harry huffed a little laughter as they walked. “Erm, well, we sort of decided to kidnap each other, really,” he began, telling them the story as they walked across the Great Lawn. Ginny might not actually be at the castle yet, but she would be soon. Harry knew that she was taking the day off tomorrow, and he wondered how she’d feel about spending some of it with _his parents._

* * *

Draco was in a distinctly awkward position. Oh, his parents had taught him exactly what to do in such a circumstance. Naturally. The awkward part wasn’t produced from a lack of knowing what to do. It came from not wanting to do it.

Clearly he would need to consult Luna who would know, unequivocally, what he should do.

Still in the library, Draco called out to the elf he had assigned to Luna.

“Shimmy?”

“Yes, Master Coney?” the elf asked as soon as he appeared.

“Has Miss Lovegood called for tea yet?”

“No, Master Coney. Should Shimmy prepare tea for the Mistress?”

“Make it tea for two and I’ll join her. Alert me when you’ve delivered it.”

“Yes, Master Coney,” he said before disappearing and went about his business in the Pendragon kitchens.

“Um,” came a voice from several feet away. Dee had looked up from his book. Dee, the source of the current conundrum.

Draco raised a single eyebrow.

“Why did the elf call you a rabbit? Is that an elf thing? Or a Malfoy thing?”

Draco smirked and shook his head. This, at least, was easy to answer. “When you’re nannied by elves, they give you a name. Usually a syllable of your given name, diminuitized.”

Dee was nodding, but he still looked confused. “And they got Coney from…”

“My proper name. Draconis.”

“Ah. Right. Yeah, my Mum has pet names for me. Never liked them much, if I’m honest.”

Draco’s smile was rueful this time. “Yes, well, most purebloods have entirely accepted it, as it does mean the elves in question would die to save their lives. Not at war, you understand, but assassination certianly, and in a siege possibly. A bit of indignity is worth it, believe me.”

“Whoh, that got deep,” Dee said, eyes wide.

“You did say you wanted to know their culture,” Draco pointed out mildly before returning to his book, but honestly not thinking about it. He was thinking about the fact that he had highly sensitive, indeed _blackmail material_ on Dee Dursley now and he wasn’t entirely certain he actually wanted to use it as such.

He worried the problem back and forth in his mind as his eyes scanned the page before he turned it to the next. He wasn’t exactly reading, per se, but he gave a good impression of it.

His father would have had the boy working at half-wages for the rest of his life for this, but Draco had no desire to be like Lucius. And Lucius had no ground to stand on when it came to extravagant love affairs, either. Not that he’d crossed the species line, to Draco’s knowledge, but still. They were sentient. That had to count for something.

And really, Mother seemed to be having a fling with a snake and Draco was not at all convinced it was entirely platonic at this point, but there was, of course, absolutely no way to ask without getting his ears boxed, and once was enough to be on the receiving end of that maneuver. Besides, Lucius used to say that his lovelife was none of Draco’s business, so the same undoubtedly held for his mother as well.

Not that he wanted to think about that.

_Luna in a sarong. Luna in the bath. Luna in nothing but lacy pants and heels._

Draco took a deep breath and went back to actually reading. Where the hell was he? Right. The Nineteenth Dynasty of Egypt and whether or not certain pharaohs ever died, or were just wizards with longer lifespans.

Draco looked at the page number and the chapter heading at the top of the page. He was twenty pages advanced of where he’d been when Dee dropped the firecracker in the volcano visavis an Interspecies Orgy.

Damn. He’d missed the conclusion of the argument and now they were on to the efforts of the late Ptolomies in safeguarding the Library of Alexandria.

Bugger. He’d have to pick up the book again later.

* * *

_The young Duke was handsome and delicious,_ Luna thought, looking at the second teacup. And apparently he had every intention of distracting her for a bit during teatime. Luna grinned and capped her pen, but when she got up and went to pour the tea she could feel something else entirely. A wave of sadness and confusion washed over her and she knew it wasn’t hers.

So, this wasn’t a seductive visit, then. Just as well she’d poured the tea and not disrobed on the bed.

When the knock came she was already at the door and pulling the heavy iron ring to open it. She didn’t have to raise herself far onto her tip toes because she was wearing her favorite heels, but all the same she kissed him swiftly on the lips in greeting in an otherwise silent entreaty for him to enter.

He burbled on politely about her work and her morning so far, and that was kind of him to inquire, but not to the point at all.

She had considered, when she got up from her work originally, looking deeply into his situation to see what was bothering him, exactly, but then something held her back. Knowing wasn’t always the most helpful way, after all. And _her_ knowing wasn’t the point in the least.

She silently handed him the teacup and settled on the bearskin rug in front of the fireplace which was, currently at least, much more comfortable than the ancient bench that did duty as a sofa. When he paused speaking to join her, she just stared at him. Oh, he’d asked her little questions here and there, but she’d only smiled or murmured wordlessly because none of it was to the point.

So she stared at him. She’d ask actual questions in a minute, if she needed to, but the staring might be enough on its own.

“I never know what you’re thinking,” Draco pointed out quietly, and finally leaving off pleasantries for the sake of being real.

“I’m not thinking. I’m waiting,” she pointed out, honestly. Her face was clear and open, she knew, but that was exactly the sort of face on which others liked to project their own emotions, which was always so interesting to Luna. What emotions of their own would they assign to her? Sometimes she played it like a guessing game, but not just now.

“For what?” he asked, a gentle eyebrow arching up. He took a sip of tea, but she waited until he’d swallowed completely.

“For you to tell me why you’re upset.”

“Who said I’m upset?” he answered in what had to be an automatically defensive manner. His features were still mild, but he was very clearly lying. His whole being cried out with it.

Luna went ahead and answered honestly. “You did.” Then she drank some tea, which was very welcome, as breaks went.

The quiet was long and deep. It was the sort that needed a clock and some whirring noises, Luna thought.

The silence went on and on.

“I don’t know what to do,” Draco eventually said, his voice so quiet that had there been a clock and some whirring noises, they would have provided stiff competition.

“Tell me what happened,” Luna said simply.

Then he poured it out and it was fascinating, really, the look into how he was raised, what sort of training Lucius had given him, and what he therefore took for granted.

For instance, Lucius apparently had very strong rules about drinking to excess. It was absolutely not allowed unless one was entirely alone and completely secure.

Drinking to excess, in Lucius’ opinion and he was perhaps not wrong about some of this, led to indiscreet conversation and random sexual encounters that one could only just barely remember, and most importantly, apparently, that one could easily downplay in importance, thus providing blackmail material for anyone who could remember.

This, to Lucius, was a chain of events that was absolutely inevitable every time one drank to excess in the company of others, which was apparently something her betrothed avoided, nice to know.

Unless of course one was hosting a party, encouraging others to drink to excess, pretending to do likewise, refraining from outre encounters - as a host, it’s only right - and largely remembering as much as possible and always verbatim, with the memories and a written account in a locked safe, duplicates in the Vault at Gringotts in Paris. This Lucius had done frequently and to great effect, which neatly explained his hold over the Editor-in-Chief of the Daily Prophet for so many years.

When finally his tale was complete, she took his cup and got up and refilled both of them before returning. This was accomplished in silence.

Handing his tea back to him, she spoke.

“First, I want to honor how insightful you are. You really don’t give yourself credit for this sort of thing, Draco. Well done," she said sitting down and silently thanking the fur.

He blinked back at her. “I… oh. Thank you. It’s just that Mother-”

Luna cut him off. “Your Mother is an expert. She grew up in a family of deep paranoia and intrigue and then came to fruition half-supporting the Idiot King. And she’s had thirty years worth of dreadfully painful learning experiences more than you. Please stop comparing yourself unfavorably to your mother. I daresay she wouldn’t want you to do so. You could of course compliment her. That she might welcome.”

Luna watched as Draco took this in quietly and with some difficulty. After an entire cup of tea had passed, Draco got up and got them refills. When he sat back down he seemed to have regained some of his equilibrium.

“Right. I’m ready for number two,” he said decisively, and Luna silently praised his bravery with a smile.

“Second, you have options in this situation, and perhaps many more than you realize. I’d be happy to discuss them with you, if you like.”

Draco nodded silently for a moment and then started speaking. “I can see that I could do a soft touch now without definitive proof, but that has downsides and you never get as much. I could go for a hard touch later and seek definitive proof now, but the proof may not be in the offing, given the other participants and so the risks are high and the payoffs equally high. What other options do you see?”

Luna sighed inwardly and outwardly took a sip of tea.

“Option one, with several sub options, you blackmail him. Option two, with several sub options, you do not blackmail him.”

“I… what?” Draco stammered.

“You’ve fleshed out option one,” Luna pointed out patiently. “I’ll flesh out option two. You forget he ever admitted anything in your hearing. That’s one. You use his admission and its vulnerability to become closer friends with him, possibly reciprocating with further intimacy on your own part. That’s two. You offer Drunkard’s Bane to him before it’s too late, possibly staying with him as he takes it, which would involve further vulnerability, etc. That’s three, or possibly a subsection of two. You discuss the implications with Hermione, who is desperate to have more information on the beings involved and who might name him ambassador because of this. That’s four, or possibly three. Given more time I could come up with more options, but that’s enough to go on for now, I think.”

Draco had a horrified but somewhat contemplative look on his face that Luna cherished. It was a hard potion to swallow, but he was doing it, and it was changing him. She could see it.

“Talk… to me… about… two… and two… and a half,” he managed to squeeze out past his horror, training, and the geis his father had laid on him.

“There are pros and cons,” she pointed out. “Pro, it’s very likely you’ll have a closer, better friendship with him, which will bode well for working closely with him in the future. You’ll also, in case you’re curious, cut off a karmic cycle. This is especially true, I think, if you discuss the implications with him and then immediately reciprocate with vulnerability so he doesn’t feel so embarrassed or possibly ashamed that it cripples his emotions. Then if you top that with the offer for Drunkard’s Bane - and do discuss all the effects and side effects with him - and then walk through the process with him if he wants it… well, I’d say he’d probably follow you into hell of his own free will after that, not that at this point you would ask him to. But if you’re looking to forge alliances and not create minions with resentments or puppets who have to constantly be manipulated in order for your interests to be served, this would be a way to do it.”

Draco was nodding and his look was now more contemplative than horrified. “Now that you mention it, I’ve watched what damage resentful minions can do and I’m certain that I don’t want that. And Father mentioned often enough how difficult it was to constantly be on top of all the people he was blackmailing. Puppets, like you say.” He took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. “Alliances. Father called those the most dangerous and the least controllable. And if he’s against it, I could be for it. Though I’ll grant you, I think he was right about the drinking.”

Luna smiled gently. “If absolute power is what you need and you plan on doing dreadful things that no sane person wants to have happen to their own family, then yes; alliances are dangerous. But let’s consider why they are dangerous.

“Alliances are inherently vehicles that invite you to change your perspective. Yes, they do other things, too, all of which you already know. But when you walk the path with someone who is just similar enough to you that you can walk the same path for a while, you are offered time and time again the opportunity to see the world as they do, and the same goes for them and your world view. Most of us make our decisions believing we are right, or at least that we have made the best decision we could in the moment, and most of us are capable of looking back on a decision, whether it’s immediately or years later, and regretting it. And if you’re capable of regretting your decision, you’re capable of changing your mind - and most everyone is. An alliance offers you an intimate look at a different perspective and the opportunity to adopt some of what you see so that you can make even better decisions in the future - and the same goes for the other members of the alliance. It’s not perfect, of course. And it’s not as good as a close friendship with a wise person in whose presence you can grow and blossom, but any opportunity can be taken, and an alliance is dangerous for someone with absolute power on the mind because they cannot afford to change for reasons of their own.”

But then Draco was putting down his cup and crawling over to her side of the rug until he was over her on all fours and she was half leaning back on her arms, smiling.

“Thank you for being my wise person.”

And then he kissed her thoroughly and it was just delightful. He tasted like tea and himself, and for a little moment Luna lost herself in it. When the kiss ended she slowly opened her eyes and smiled at him.

“But what on earth makes you think that Drunkard’s Bane would even work on him?” Draco asked, now kissing the side of her face and down her neck to the tops of her standard work robe she was wearing over a sweater and trousers.

She grinned. “It’s hard to know for sure,” she said on a sigh. “But his aunt was a witch and his first cousin is a wizard. He and his mother might be entirely non-magical, or of course, they might be semi-magical and not realize.”

Draco sighed against her neck and paused in his kissing, just nuzzling there. “Thought I saw some in one of the ground floor potions cabinets. Wouldn’t have thought they’d stock that here.”

Luna giggled. “Oh, Viktor wouldn’t have, and Hermione wouldn’t have even thought of that. But Ginny’s mum was brewing the other day, and I bet she did it.”

And then the talk ended and the rest of Luna’s tea break was productive indeed, just in an entirely different manner than the first portion of it. It was filled with soft sighs, mutual vulnerability, a deep and growing fondness between them, and one orgasm apiece.

* * *

Draco was trotting down the stairs in a highly satisfied manner, intending to go back to the Library and see if Dee was still about when he came upon one Harry Too Many Names Potter, who was hailing him. Hermione’s kind and totally guileless parents were flanking him.

“Oi. Draco. Do you have a moment?”

An instant calculation told him he did, whether or not he did. He walked toward the grouping even as they came toward him, the Drs. Granger greeting him fondly.

“Got a moment to witness a contract?”

Draco did not betray his interest. “Of course. What sort of witnessing?”

“Um, signed in blood?”

Draco did not do a double take. He did not raise his eyebrows. He did not, in fact, betray his interest.

“Do you have all the equipment ready?”

Harry’s eyes darted around briefly. “Ah, no.”

“Would you like me to do that, as witness?” Draco asked, thinking that Luna would be proud of him. His mother would be, too, he thought.

Harry looked relieved. “That’d be great, yes.”

“Shall we do this in the Library? Your cousin may still be in there.”

“That would be perfect, don’t you think, Harry?” Mrs. Granger answered and Draco wondered why it would be perfect.

“Yes, alright,” Harry answered and Draco did not stare when Mr. Granger put his hand on Potter’s shoulder in a rather familiar fashion.

"I'll meet you there, then," Draco said and bowed slightly before heading back up the two flights of stairs to fetch his standard writing kit, or at least the pertinent parts of it.

Now, for blood-bound documents, he reviewed mentally, each signer needed a separate quill, quills to be first cut during the signing with wands down. Better if everyone used their own knife and quills, of course, integrity can be guaranteed, then, but that likely wasn't going to happen, and as witness he would be trusted… which was an odd feeling. ...And then knives cleaned by elf and quills burned at the end of the signing. Healing paste applied, wands reacquired, and the deed is done.

Right. Right. He could do this. And as witness, he would be required to read the document, and thus satisfy his own curiosity.

Easier to simply bring down his entire writing case, Draco did so and found himself walking into a scene of odd tension, which while not entirely unusual wasn't what he'd anticipated.

"Mum's coming around," Dee was quietly saying. "Dad's a prick, I'll grant you." And then Draco watched as his future vineyard manager apologized for his language to Mrs. Granger. who didn't actually seem much to mind.

"Hey," Harry said and caught up his cousin in a hug that seemed to surprise both of them. "It's cool. I just also want this."

Draco watched this heartening moment keeping his own shock inside. Everyone was just so… so _emotional._

Draco set up at a table and Mr. Granger wandered over to him, thanking him for helping out.

He murmured the appropriate replies and then asked how many signers there would be.

"Just Helen and I, and then you as the witness."

_What the fuck kind of contract was he witnessing?_

Wand out, placed gently at the top of the table next to his writing kit. One sheet of stationery - his best for this moment, cream colored linen, the Malfoy crest embossed with a gold leaf overlay - pen and ink, a blotting pad, penknife, three tiny quills good for single-use blood signing. He sharpened each quill quickly and carefully first, and then laid them aside, careful to put absolutely no pressure on the fragile and extremely fine nib he’d managed. He filled the pen with the dark green ink and put it carefully back in the holder.

"You can dictate, if you like. I'll be happy to take it down," he said congenially, the curiosity eating away inside of him.

"Perfect,” Mr. Granger replied. “It's not a long statement."

Draco picked up the pen and nodded his readiness.

_"We, the signers below, do hereby and with full consent and legality on this day, January 2, 200_, adopt Harry James Granger Black Pendragon Peveril Potter to be our son and second-born child and grant him all the rights and responsibilities he is entitled to therein."_

Draco did not choke. He kept writing steadily and in his best hand. The statement was a short one and Draco did his best to keep even breathing as he put his pen aside and gently put a piece of blotting paper over the statement and let it lie there for a moment, also allowing him to consider…

...But Potter was an adult, now… Did he need parents at this point?

...Was there such a fine and large legacy the Grangers had in the mundane world that they needed two heirs?

After a suitable interval, he removed the blotting paper and put it aside. He would use it again on the blood signatures and then burn it with the rest. He got up from the chair and offered it to William Granger. When the man just sat there looking at things, Draco took his cue and walked around to the other side. He put one of the tiny quills just next to the document and picked up the penknife.

“You’re right handed?” he murmured quietly, aware of another conversation going on on the other side of the room and wished he was able to fully track both. “Then give me your left hand. When the blood wells up you’re going to immediately and very gently put the tip of the nib at the bubble of blood and quickly and lightly begin to sign. You’ll need to refill the pen and possibly more than once. Keep your left hand to the side of the document so you don’t bleed on it. The nib is very fine and very fragile, so you can sign quite small and use a smaller amount of blood, if you choose to. Got everything?” When he answered in the affirmative, Draco pressed the tip of his knife into the tip of his left forefinger. He stepped away slightly and wiped the tip of his knife on the blotting paper. 

When he was finished, Draco took the used quill and put it aside as Hermione’s father called his wife over and explained the process to her. When she sat down in the chair next to where he was standing, she thanked him for handling the details and he politely accepted it. She made quick work with a second quill, and then it was Draco’s turn.

He had never done this before, the Idiot King requiring much more than a minute amount of blood on a document. It was nice to be doing it for something so… gentle. He had been an official witness before, but to torture and a rather different sort of bloodshed.

A deep breath and he was signing at the bottom, below the other signatures.

_Witnessed in Cair Paravel, Pendragon Stronghold of the Northwestern Crossing, this 2nd of January of the year 200_ by Draconis Adonis, 23rd Comte du Malfoi, Duke Black Malfoy._

“It’s done?” Harry asked, having come up to the table when Draco’s attention was elsewhere.

“Not yet,” Draco murmured. He emptied his pen and blotted it before putting it away and capping the ink and putting that away as well. “Tipsy?” he called out to his personal elf.

“Yes, Master Coney?”

He held the knife up between them, bloody point to the ceiling. “Clean this for me?”

Tipsy snapped his fingers and it was done.

Draco gathered the quills atop the blotting papers and held them out with all due care. “Hold these for me?”

Tipsy held out one hand toward the materials, not touching anything, but answered positively. The blood-touched materials floated in the air.

Draco took his wand from the desk and murmured a quiet incendio, and as the materials were burned to ash, and with a heinous smell from the feathers, the ash all wafted only so far and was held stationary in the air by the elf. When there was no more flame, Draco murmured a quiet evanesco and the ash was gone.

“Is it done?” he asked the elf.

“It is done, Master Coney.”

“Excellent. Put three bottles of champagne to chill for the company after dinner, and alert the Head of Kitchens that we have much to celebrate this evening, will you, Tipsy?”

“Yes, Master Coney!” Tipsy said with a grin and disappeared.

“So, now it’s done?” Harry asked, and Draco looked up seeing that everyone had silently witnessed his interaction with the elf, which was… odd. He was far more used to people ignoring such things.

“Not exactly. Now you must go to Gringotts and have them make you five official copies of this original, which must remain uncharmed and uncreased and otherwise unbesmirched, so do cover it if you go through the floo. One copy must go on file with the Ministry here in Britain, one copy to the Ministry in Australia, one to Gringotts for their genealogical charts, and one each to your vault and Hermione’s. After the official copies are made, you can charm this one against theft, fire, water, and so forth, and the original remains with the Grangers, as signers.”

“No time like the present,” Mrs. Granger said. “Shall I fetch a large envelope for it? I’ve got one upstairs.”

Draco watched as Harry grinned. “Yes, alright.” But then Potter turned to him as he was finishing putting everything to rights in his writing kit. “Hey. Thank you. I wouldn’t have known the ins and outs and probably would have gotten blood everywhere.”

Draco shook the proffered hand in silence, quietly taking in Dee’s less-than-celebratory look as he stood just outside of the happy bubble.

“Well, my part is finished here and you’re off. Dee, feel like a quiet moment in the steam room?”

The man perked up a bit and gave him a lopsided grin. “Yeah, alright. I’ll go get changed and meet you there.”

As Draco walked up the stairs many moments later, both alone and silent in the stone castle, he wondered exactly how to phrase what he was going to say. A hard or soft touch of blackmail was easy. This alliance building, though… It was trickier.

* * *

Dudley was feeling… well, a bit torn. A little off. It wasn’t that he didn’t want nice things for Harry - if anyone deserved nice things at this point in their lives, it was definitely Harry. He was onboard with that idea, certainly. But somewhere rather deep down inside of him, Dee felt like Harry was leaving him behind, just as they were beginning to maybe become friends.

Intellectually, of course, it all did make sense.

Harry’s parents were dead. His relatives raised him, but not with love and they certainly never became anything like surrogate parents. Dudley himself was never like a brother, at least, not a good one.

And really, Harry had already done the bonding thing with the Queen months ago, and Dee still had a good relationship with him. Which just went to show you could have more than one sibling-like-person in your life.

And yet somehow this whole adoption thing hit harder. Deeper. Or maybe just differently. And on the surface level, Dee just didn’t know. He felt bad and that was about as far as he was aware things went. And so… sitting in the steam room with Draco would be nice and relaxing and bound to make him feel better. And Harry could go off and run errands with his parents and meanwhile, Dee had no parents around, no errands to do… and he could just relax.

By the time Dee had made it down to the steam room in his hawaiian print board shorts and his I WAS THERE t-shirt and thongs, he was content once more. He was having a great time, he was making new friends, Harry had parents again, and all was right in the world.

“So, I’ve been thinking about something you said,” Draco said as they both got comfortable leaning back on two of the individual reclined stone beds of the room. They couldn’t exactly see each other easily, but there was no one else around and it was _so_ comfortable. The stone beds were heated.

“Yeah?” Dee prompted, shifting and cracking his back. 

“The memories you lost the night of the coronation, due to drinking. It sounds like they were pretty valuable to you, and portions of the conversations you had, the insights you could bring to the culture of the beings present, that could even possibly be helpful to the Queen, if it was something you would be willing to share, provided you could remember, of course.”

Dee sighed. _Well, shit. Really shouldn’t have drunk that much._ “Yeah, but I’m pretty sure they’re gone. I mean, it’s been more than twenty-four hours and it’s still pretty hazy past a certain point. Just snippets, you know?”

“Well, there is a chance you could regain those memories, if they’re important enough for you. There’s a potion. It’s got drawbacks, one of which can be mitigated somewhat. There’s a chance the potion won’t work on you, of course, but there’s a chance it would.”

Dudley was suddenly quite alert, despite the relaxing situation, because he was pretty sure that he’d maybe kissed Carys. He’d sort of remembered something like that, her complaining about his kissing, _but he couldn’t remember kissing her._

Which meant he couldn’t remember his first kiss.

_And apparently he’d gotten to kiss a mermaid first of all his kisses._

_And he couldn’t remember shit._

“I’m in,” he said immediately. “What are the drawbacks and why might it not work?”

“Well,” the aristocrat drawled, “tackling last first, if you are entirely a non-magical person, the potion won’t work on you because no potion will work on you, so we can test something minor in a bit, if you’re still interested. Pepper-Up or somesuch. And if it does have an effect on you, then that means you’re not actually a muggle, you’re a squib. A semi-magical person, you know?”

_“Whaaaaa-”_ Dee said with wide eyes.

“Yes, well. Welcome to the magical world. You may belong here even more than you realized at first. Shall we discuss detriments or do you need a moment?”

_“-aaaaaaaat?”_ Dee said with wide eyes.

Other things happened. Draco said things. An elf came and went. And Dudley Dunstan Dursley’s brain had stopped on ‘Maybe You’re Magical’, because _what the fuck?_

_What the fuckity-fuck-fuck-fuckerson?_

_Could you actually put enough ‘fucks’ in the sentiment to make it real?_

An elf with long ears and a starched pillowcase was holding out a bottle to him and he downed it without thought. It wasn’t a big bottle. Quite small actually.

He pulled a face. _For the love of fuck! What the fuck was that? Essense of fucking ghost peppers? How much capsaicin was in that shit? Could he breathe fire now? Was that the point of the potion? Why did his ears feel so bizarre? Were they burning off, along with his tongue?_

“I _said_ a sip,” a dry voice sounded through the wet room and resonated in his brain when his hearing came back and his tongue was no longer on fire. “That was at least six doses and you’re going to be bouncing off the walls for the next three hours. Brought that one on yourself. Congratulations, Dee. You’re a squib. And the other potion will work on you as well, should you choose to take it.”

Dudley, now strangely energetic, sat up and then got up and started mindlessly pacing. He rubbed his hands over his face. Hard to think like this, like he had ants in his pants or something. He rubbed his tongue over the roof of his mouth - not sensitive now. He wiggled his ears. Nothing wrong with them, now. He bounced on his heels for a moment, oddly wanting to do pull-ups, except of course there was no convenient thing to hang off of at present. Maybe he needed to go for a swim? Hm. Not energetic enough. Ah! Push ups.

He dropped to the stone floor and started doing just standard push ups, glad to burn off some energy. Now he could think.

“We’ll come back to me being a semi-magical firecracker in a moment. Let’s discuss the detriments of the other potion, shall we?” he prompted, his mind whirling and his words much faster than normal. 

It wasn’t long until Draco responded, but in the space of four heartbeats, Dudley thought many things, because really, being a semi-magical person would only help him in the future, provided the future did not entail his father ever, not ever finding out, because then he might get kicked out, actually, and he wasn’t done with school yet and that would be both inconvenient for himself and rather hard on his mother.

And really, his mother wouldn’t take it too hard if he maybe made an effort to include her in on things, which could totally happen, and maybe if he gave her some useful magical gifts, just small things that his father would be able to overlook. Not, like, an owl or anything. Probably.

“There are two main detriments to Drunkard’s Bane-”

_Hell of a name._

“- the first being the amount of alcohol you could safely consume in the future, and the second being the quality of the memories you’ll have from the moment you take it back to the moment you hit the level of drunkenness that memories couldn’t normally form.”

“Okay. Following you,” Dee said, switching to a few one handed push ups.

“You can only ever take the potion three times,” the other man continued, and it was like sitting a lecture, really, but way more interesting. Now, taking double firsts in vitaculture and magical studies, that would be brilliant. “If you drink to oblivion, you can take it the first time, and then ever after you won’t be able to drink that much. You’ll be able to get mildly drunk, but anything more than that and you start projectile vomiting on everyone around you. Very specifically on people, you understand. If you get that drunk again and take it a second time, you’ll only be able to have a single drink a day after that, if that. You go farther, vomiting. On people. For hours. If you do get that far and take it a third time, no more alcohol, ever. Or vomiting, same thing.”

Dudley was trying to smother his laughter. So far, the potion actually sounded awesome, hilarious, and like a really great party trick. And if he took it the one time, he’d still be able to have a drink or three at the pub, just not six or seven, and maybe, well, maybe that was just as well. Better on his budget, that’s for sure. He switched hands again and kept doing push ups.

“As far as memories are concerned,” Draco continued and as long as Dee was actively moving and pushing himself he could pay attention very well, so he continued to do so. “You can take the potion up to twenty-eight days after your last night of heavy drinking, and every single memory, everything you’ve seen and forgotten, read and glossed over, thought in a fleeting fashion or felt even slightly becomes permanent and unalterable in your mind. There is a way to remove discreet memories that are just too overwhelming to keep, but that can’t be done too much. And if you have more than several hours of unpleasantness in that time, it will haunt you until you die.”

Dee switched to his back so he could do stomach crunches and considered maybe going for a run in a bit. After the present conversation about a magically induced period of photographic memory that apparently wizards loathed. What the hell did they regularly get up to that they couldn’t stand remembering, anyway?

“Yeah, alright. And if everything is wonderful and you’ve just had the time of your life?”

His companion seemed hesitant in his answer. “The texts don’t say much about that. The dire warnings rather harp on negative experiences and emotions.”

“So it’s probably the same, except you’d keep reliving the awesomeness until you die, constantly providing a place of joy and peace to return to, huh?” Dudley asked, his voice somewhat stilted every other word as he crunched himself up into a semi-upright posture.

“Possibly,” Draco hedged.

Dee snorted. “So, what if I spent the night sipping that potion I just had and skimming every book in the ground floor library, then? You know, before taking Alchy’s Bane after breakfast, or for preference, just after you dropped me off at the train station in London, after the winery tour. Even if I retained almost none of the reading at the time, I could take the potion and then have instant recall on all that information?”

“Uh-”

Dee waited, shifting to crunch more on the right side. He wasn’t counting his reps, but it felt right, so he went with it.

“Well?” he prompted, glancing over to see that Draco was sitting up, looking at him with a plainly stunned expression on his face. Dee smirked. Briefly. Then went back to crunches on his right side.

“It’s... never been used that way on purpose, I don’t think, but yes, that would be a more positive spin on the most dreaded side effect.”

“And I’ve got twenty-seven days to take it,” he said, his mind spinning quickly and his words matching in both speed and velocity. “Could do a crash course in French in that time. And in agro and vineyard management. Or of the magical world. Of course I’d have to be in a calm environment, so that rules out home once my parents return. Not calm. Not anything I’d want to remember forever, thanks. And I do have to get back to Uni on time. When would that be? Let me see.”

Dudley shifted to do crunches on his left side as he tried to remember when he was due back in the dorms. _Ah! January twentieth, in the evening. Classes begin again the twenty-first._

“Right, so I’m due back on the twentieth of January, but I’d need a day or two to get myself together, so that’s the eighteenth, which is ten days less than ideal, but I’m fairly good at cramming and I bet I could cram a shocking amount into my head in the next sixteen days, if I had a quiet calm place that involved food delivery and coffee. Hotel or something. Not that I can afford that, but there you go.

“You know,” he continued in his energetically musing fashion, “a person could make a packet on this sort of thing. Host a resort kind of thing. Peaceful place, out in the country. Catered experience. Nice suites. Get them roaring drunk and then let them do deep language immersion and intense study for the next twenty-eight days. Drink the potion. Bam. Fluency in twenty-eight days instead of years. Small price to pay, really, missing out on hellish hangovers and being fall-down drunk. And maybe it takes a few months afterwards to kind of sort out all the memories and things in your head, since language isn’t just about memorizing, but of course other things are, and the study options are almost endless. But think of the harder languages, like Chinese and Hebrew and Arabic and Greek. And what if all the basics, all the grammar, all the rules and all the vocabulary could be skimmed in a month? I mean, heck. Just read the dictionary. Bloody brilliant. And no one’s thought of this before? Really? How dim is the magical world, anyway? Or am I missing another major downside you haven’t mentioned yet, like sporadic erectile dysfunction or something?”

Draco had a coughing fit. Probably inhaled a bug or something. Happened to Dudley, sometimes.

“Yep, hold that thought,” Dudley said, pausing in his workout and in his whirlwind tour of innovative ideas. “A bit warm. Going to go take a quick lap in the cold pool. Be right back.”

Dudley trotted through the rooms, waved to Bill and Fleur who were in the hot pool, and dove into the cold pool which while momentarily shocking, felt subsequently _amazing._ He ended up doing several laps, just the front crawl, the only thing he could do really, but it was just brilliant.

Then again, _everything was brilliant._

Dee hopped out of the pool, took a quick stop in the lavatory and then decided to run around the building, rather than through it, and went ahead and did so. But the stone was a bit hard, so he just ran in the grass outside. The air had a bit of a chill to it and his feet were bare, but it felt quite nice, actually, and when he got back into the steam room Draco had gone. Probably for a bit of water and ice or something. Standard in the steam room, to nip out and very shortly be back again.

“I have a proposition for you,” Draco said as he walked back into the room and seated himself down on one of the flat benches where it was easier to talk. 

Dee continued to do jumping jacks. “Whatever it is, my answer is yes.”

Draco’s eyebrows rose but he wasn’t silent for long.

“I have a chateau in Champagne that stands largely empty. Stay there for the next sixteen days. Cram, as you say. I’ll have a house elf cater for you. But isolate yourself in every other way so that you can have a largely neutral experience. Just studying and the occasional walk outside so you don’t go mad. And if you’re right about the language immersion, I’ll see if I can test it on a fully-magical person to see if it works for them as well. And if it does, and I can make a go of your resort idea, I’ll give you ten percent of the profits.”

“Hah!” Dudley exclaimed, now running in place even despite the stone floor. “Deal! Now that I think about it though, it might be best for me to go home tomorrow for a day and a half. Do some things. See if I can call my Mum, or maybe just leave her a note. There’s some books I’d want to buy, or borrow, and any books you can loan me on magical history and culture, I’d love to read those, too. I’ll pack up for Uni, and then go to the Champagne Chateau, and then go directly to Uni from there afterwards, you know? Avoid confrontation with my dad, is the idea. Parents are still in Majorca right now. House is still empty.”

“Right,” Draco responded, though Dee was amazed at how slowly he spoke. He’d never really noticed it before just now. “Tipsy? Have Trix prepare the Blue Suite in the Chateau for a guest through January twentieth. He’ll need full catering, four meals daily to be served in his suite. Please have all acceptable books on history, culture, viticulture, and any acceptable books written in French delivered to the sitting room there. Please also include all the vineyard journals, bring the gramophone up, plus all the LPs, and make sure there’s a radio in the suite as well. That is all.”

Dudley laughed. “When you do a thing, you do it!” And then he started doing squats. “Right, so if you can get me to London I can get a train back home no problem, and likewise I can get a train back to Uni when the time comes. Where should I meet you on the fourth? And at what time?”

“Five in the afternoon? King’s Cross Station? Have you been to Platform 9¾?”

Dudley snorted. “Yeah, no. I mean, I’ve been to King’s Cross, and the train for Uni leaves out of St. Pancras, but whatever. I can meet you at King’s Cross at either Platform 9 or possibly 10, or if someone tells me the secret password, 9¾.”

Draco explained how to walk through the door to the platform. Dudley burst out laughing.

“And you’ve done this, yeah?”

“Not as such, no,” the other man admitted.

“Yeah, no offence, but I’m going to want to talk to someone who has actually walked through the wall before I crack my head on it, yeah?” Dee pointed out, snorting even while squatting.

“Fair. Talk to Harry when you get a chance. I’ve seen him walk through the barrier at least once.”

Dee started doing lunges across the room. He was pouring with sweat, but that was one of the major selling points of a steam room. He’d need water soon, though.

And soon enough he’d be able to speak decent French and remember his first kiss. 

* * *

_2 Jan 200_  
_ _Magical Castle in Wales_

_Dear Mum,_

_I’m writing you this letter just in case I can’t get you on the phone in your hotel tomorrow. I’ll be home tomorrow afternoon until the afternoon of the next day, but then I’m off again! I didn’t want you to worry, hence this letter. I’m going to be spending the time before I get back to Uni (on time, I promise) doing an intense language immersion course in France at a private chateau (owned by an English Peer and French Comte - he’s both) in Champagne. But that’s not the biggest news. I’m doing the immersion course because I’ve got a great option to intern with that same aristocrat at one of his vineyards, and by the way I’m changing my major to agro. But I need to learn French, and I figure this is better and cheaper than hiring tutors for the next several years._

_Anyway, I’m going to get my pictures developed and leave you a complete set of doubles, you know, minus the blurry ones, and the present I got for you at the Festival. I’ll put them all on my desk in my room (I promise to clean it off first) so that you can go in there and get them when you feel like it. I’ll also leave the newspapers I’ve got and read so far there in case you want to look them over. The announcement about Harry’s elevation is in one of them, and I did get a picture with me and him and Prince Charles and QEII. I hope it’s not blurry. I had a friend take it for us._

_Tell Dad I never did go quail hunting or fox hunting, but I did see some brilliant Shakespeare with Jean Luc Picard in it, and it was just as amazing as you would have imagined, and live! We had great seats in the royal pavilion - I sat with Harry and his new wife, Ginny, and right behind all the royals. I also was introduced to Prince C & QEII on the day they spent with Harry as their escort and interpreter. They seem like very nice people, Mum. Also you can tell Dad that I don’t think I met my future wife, but you never know about these things, of course. I did make loads of new friends, most of which I’ll keep in contact with, writing, you know. _

_During the immersion course I’m going to be pretty focused, so I won’t be able to write then, but I promise, Mum, I promise I’ll write more when I get to Uni and have a bit more time. I’ll tell you all about every picture I took, I’ll tell you all about all the people I met and all the crazy wonderful experiences I had, the weird and amazing presents the Queen of Avalon got, and everything. I met some really great people, Mum. Some of them were witches and wizards, and some of them were non-magical parents and siblings, you know? I’m personal friends with a professor at Oxford and the owner of a medical device manufacturing plant (non magical, both of them, each with non magical wives and one wizard son and one non magical child) but also most amazingly, I’m friends with this aristocrat who went to school with Harry, but who just graduated like normal and isn’t going back for an eighth year - he’s the English Peer and French Comte (his family’s been here since the revolution) and he owns vineyards in Champagne and Burgundy, and it’s the one in Burgundy that I’ll do the internship with. It’s crazy, but Harry is now sort of related to him - I mean, his wife and Draco (that’s his name) are really super distant cousins, but Draco is the other brother of the Queen of Avalon, which is a longer story and I’ll tell you that one later, but Draco and I hit it off like a house on fire! Anyway, I’m really excited and he’s been very clear that if I’m keen, learn French, and do well during the internship, there’s a job for me at the end of it. He’s a wizard, but the whole winery is non magical and always has been. (Grapes and magic don’t mix, apparently.) And he’s always had squib managers and non magical everyone else working for him. I guess the label isn’t widely available in the non magical world, but it’s popular enough in the magical world. I’ll see if I can’t get you a bottle, at least by this summer, and he says that he wants to break the label into our world, and I might get to help with that process! He’s also interested in the innovation I know is going on in the world of agriculture from conversations with my friend Clair (I’ve mentioned her from Uni, haven’t I? She’s the agro major that’s three doors down from me in the dorm.)_

_Anyway, I’ll definitely be home for the Easter break, and let’s spend lots of time together then, okay? Maybe pop into London for the day kind of thing._

_Anyway, Harry’s doing well, more on him later if you want to know. His wife is very nice. A year younger. Sporting type, but also very entrepreneurial - she ran the whole souvenir operation for the Festival. They got married over the anvil at Gretna Green! I promise not to do that, Mum. Still. He seems a lot happier and a lot calmer._

_Love to you and Dad,  
_ _Dudley_

_PS - I almost forgot about excalibur! I mean, I saw it during the coronation - Queen Hermione took it out of her scabbard at her waist and handed it hilt first to Queen Elizabeth II and then knelt down and was first knighted in the Order of Merlin, and then she handed it back and got on with the rest of the coronation, and then at the end of that there was this ritual where the sword was placed back in the stone (THE STONE) and it was amazing, Mum, I could feel it even where I was seated (VIP family section, row eight, excellent views) it was like this burst of pure joy. It happened at sundown on the last day of the year. Brilliant stuff, Mum. And then later, yesterday, I got permission and was just there. With the sword and the stone. Alone. It was like a holy moment or something, Mum. I took a picture for you. It’s kind of amazing to think that the stories are true, and it makes me think, Mum, that really our history is their history and their history is our history. I understand why they have to keep things secret. There are people like Dad after all, who’d probably want to kill all the merfolk and dragons and magical tigers and things, and want to put the centaurs into zoos or something, and that would be terrible I now realize. But there’s something good and pure and beautiful about people, about life, and I’m not sure it really matters, you know? If you’ve got magic, or you’ve got technology and innovation, there’s still something really beautiful about life. It’s worth knowing, Mum. It really is._

_PPS - Wow, this has been a super long letter. Sorry about that. Or not? You’ve always wanted me to write longer, so here you go. Also, I’ll be buying a bunch of books for my immersion course when I get back tomorrow - the stay in the chateau is free, so I figure I’m going to not worry about the cost of the books, right?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ::hugs:: Peace and love to you all.


	58. Chapter 50: Wherein things adjust to the New Normal.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione and Viktor have a discussion and Dee hears things he simply doesn't understand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ::waves:: Hello! Work took over my brain for a while, but I wrote things.
> 
> Here. Have some written things.

Hermione lay panting on top of him. This was the third night of their marriage and in the brief break from having sex, Viktor was able to think about something else.

But only briefly.

“Never,” he began softly, his hands still touching her, always touching her, he couldn’t help himself but he had to be touching her if he could, “never in all my wildest fantasies did I imagine we would have this much sex for so many days in a row.”

“Yeah,” Hermione said on a sigh. “Mum never mentioned this. I mean, occasionally sex all night long, but that was like a rare treat or something. Or so she said.”

“Are you sore?” he asked, knowing that she really ought to be, given their relative sizes, and the sheer quantity of penetrative sex they’d had in the last seventy-two hours. He ought to be as well, but he wasn’t.

“Nope,” she assured him, snuggling into his chest a bit and trying to reach the edge of the covers at the same time. She failed. “Maybe it’s all the hot baths.”

“Mm,” he replied, unconvinced. “I think it’s the ritual,” he said softly.

Then Hermione was laughing. It was quiet and gentle at first, but quickly she was curled up into a ball next to him, snorting she was laughing so hard.

Whatever it was, Viktor missed the joke. But he did take the opportunity to sit up and pull the sheet and blankets a bit higher.

He folded his arms back and underneath his head and watched with a single eyebrow raised as his naked wife just rolled with laughter. He didn’t get the joke, whatever it was, but he was glad to see her laugh so hard.

She was trying to say something, but that didn’t seem to be working very well.

Viktor waited, with a little smile on his face.

Finally she managed to squeeze out words, but they were so distorted by laughter he didn’t understand what she was trying to say. Eventually, three more tries later, he thought he understood the phrase, _unintended consequences._ Which made him sigh, not laugh.

“Yes, but Myon, it might not have been unintended,” he left it there, until the laughter calmed. When it did, he continued. “The fact that we did not know it, or understand it at least, and did not rearrange our lives to ensure we could be largely uninterrupted for six weeks as Mory suggested, it does not mean that the others didn’t know. It seems they did.”

She was still smiling, though the laughter was entirely gone now. “Well, I’ll have several delicate questions to ask Mory, come mid-February.”

She was smiling, but he really wasn’t. “How shall I endure all day without you until this effect is no longer so strong?” Even though she was there, beside him, he could already feel the loss of her, after the vacation was over when he would be working half days and she would be busy with school and studying all day and into the evenings.

She caught his eye and her smile was gone, a look of concern and love on her face once more. She crawled over him and sat down on his hips, letting him slip inside. She leaned back over his chest, pulling the covers up over her shoulders as she did so. Curled up on top of him, chest to chest and hip to hip, squeezing his length slightly, she made slow and gentle love to him.

From the area of his neck he felt her breathe as she spoke quietly. “My beautiful man. It seems clear to me that we will be having as much sex as possible. Perhaps this would be a good use for the time turner, just until mid-February? An extra hour after our run, before breakfast? An extra two hours after lunch before I return to classes and studying? And at least until mid-February, I promise to get all my studying done before dinner. And afterwards, as much as we both need. And neither one of us will have to go longer than four hours, okay?”

One problem solved, Viktor’s anxieties shifted gears without a single pause.

He rolled them both over so that he was on top with the blankets once more shoved off. He really didn’t need them anyway. He shifted his arms so that he rested on his elbows with his hands underneath her shoulders, his fingers curling over the tops of them. Her legs wrapped around him, one around his waist, and one around his leg, rubbing gently. He cast a single warming charm for her and heard her corresponding moan.

Even as he slowly moved within her - his love, his wife, his _home_ \- he had to hide his face lest she see his anguish. Because he had come so close to not having this. He’d been such a fool. He should have been at her side during the war. He should have been so much clearer with her so much earlier. She would never have doubted him. Distance would have meant nothing. A single word from her and he would have dropped everything, he would have come running.

And this desperate need to be with her, so much more intense than anything he could have imagined at seventeen, or nineteen, or _four days ago,_ and her corresponding desire to meet him thrust for thrust?

 _That could have been with someone else. She could have been having this with that selfish asshole former friend of hers and it would be_ **_him_ ** _she would be endlessly rutting with,_ **_him_ ** _she’d be sharing sweet secrets and observations with, but he would still perhaps be a selfish asshole, and he would not try to be better, try to make a good and happy home for both of them…_

Viktor accidentally let out a sob before he bit it back again, hiding his face in the pillow next to her as he thrust harder, trying to fuck his way through oblivion and the deep horror that he’d come so very close to not being with her after all.

He was not successful, but neither did he really want to talk about it. In fact he didn’t want to have to say anything. He just wanted to make love _enough_ to his wife that it finally felt real, and really his, in a way it did not yet feel.

And so shortly after his own orgasm, and sometime before his wife’s, he shifted down her body, kissing and sucking and biting and rubbing as he went. He cherished the taste and smell of her, and tried to stay in the moment, tried to only remember tasting her like this over and over for the last three months.

But all he could think of was a certain redhead. Would he have cherished her? Would he have rather concerned himself only with his own satisfaction?

Viktor was torn between the agony of despair and a raging, fiery hatred that in this unaware moment, consumed him entirely.

He ate her out and felt satisfied, but it was a dark thing, a rageful thing. This, he was sure, the selfish ass would not enjoy as much as Viktor himself did. 

Her thighs settled beautifully over his shoulders and one hand was at her hip, and with one he provided a gentle pressure to her lower abdomen. She liked it stronger, he knew, but it wouldn’t do now. If she wasn’t pregnant yet, she would be soon and the thought filled him with yet more dark satisfaction.

 _His_ child. Hermione would carry _his_ children. Her children would be _his_ as well, and not that selfish git’s.

But pervasively, Viktor kept seeing himself on the outside. Reading newspaper articles about her getting married to someone else, perhaps, he might hope, only for a year and a day, but still, to someone else. Of getting her letters, friendly only, no flirting, no sexiness, no romance. Honest, but only to a certain extent. Raw, but only so raw.

Could she have healed so well with him only as a friend? Could she have confided in the selfish one so well as she did with him?

Would Viktor have the utter unmitigated _gall_ to court a married woman, knowing she might choose not renew the marriage after a year and a day? Would he wait and miss yet another opportunity? Would she confide in him the difficulties of her marriage? Would he have the nerve to tell her in enough time that he’d always loved her?

Or would he have given up? Would he have finally just given in to the groupies and had just enough meaningless sex to break his own heart thoroughly enough that he wouldn’t ever have to worry about it being whole again? Wouldn’t ever worry about it belonging to anyone else?

Viktor silently cried as he ate her out, as he brought her to orgasm and it was so beautiful to him, so precious, and he’d come so very close to not having it at all.

The thought haunted him.

* * *

Hermione was vaguely aware that something was wrong with her husband. He wasn’t angry at her. She’d come to know that feeling clearly enough. But he wasn’t happy. Not that Viktor was often what some might call, ‘bright and chipper,’ though he could get excited about things. But he was usually flip-flopping between being both outwardly calm and inwardly thoughtful, and being outwardly intense and inwardly determined. That was the normal pendulum swing, as Hermione thought about it, for her Viktor. And this was something else.

He wasn’t talking. Admittedly, she hadn’t started pestering him and threatening to send him to his father, but he wasn’t volunteering information yet.

And she hadn’t been aware that someone could actively participate in consentual and quite good sex (hmm, excellent sex, actually), and still be… _upset_ at the same time. She hadn’t known something was wrong for a bit, but after the most recent round of him eating her out, she switched with him after her orgasm. She still couldn’t deep-throat him at all, but he didn’t seem to mind that she was sort of uninterested in trying. She was certainly very interested in giving him a somewhat standard, but still quite enjoyable blow job, and that seemed to work well for both of them. And she had always, even when it was just stamina drills, enjoyed looking at his face sometimes, just to watch him enjoy himself. It was flattering, really, knowing that this pleasure was being gotten at her hands.

And that was not the face of a man who was simply enjoying himself. Or even intensely enjoying himself. Sometimes, it was true, his face in the midst of intense pleasure was something like pain, but this was… different. And as the moments passed, Hermione began to trust her own intuition regarding her husband more and more.

Her logical brain kicked in. If what she was doing wasn’t working, it was time to do something different. But how different? Hermione surveyed her options, gently cupping his balls and just sucking on the tip for now.

Something where she could talk. And he could talk.

Something that gave him comfort, and/or permission to talk. Which meant either… broomstick sex, or being tied to the bed. Maybe the broom, since he was already feeling bad and tying him up, while it might make him feel better, it would make Hermione feel worse, so that was a no-go.

Well, at least it would only be in the bedroom, and thus not very high off the ground.

She leaned in and gave his stomach a kiss. “I’ll be right back,” she murmured, but noticed that he didn’t open his eyes.

Hermione didn’t spend time analyzing him, but went to the corner of their bedroom and fetched her tandem broom. She thought for a moment and remembered the tandem spell, then padded back to her side of the bed to pick up her wand off the bedside table. As quietly as she could she murmured the tandem spell and glanced over to Viktor, but still he hadn’t opened his eyes. But his fists were clenched and he looked maybe worse.

She walked back around to his side of the bed and it took three very quiet tries before she could make the broom turn on and hover where she wanted it, but she did manage it. _‘You’re going to stay right there and hover and like a good broom,’_ she told it firmly in her head as she carefully, so carefully mounted it. Naked. Her feet were firmly on the ground, her legs out wide. _‘We are not going anywhere. You are not moving. I’m going to lean down and touch the handle and we are still not going to go anywhere,’_ she firmly informed the broom.

“Viktor,” she called out softly. “Open your eyes,” she asked him gently, or perhaps it was more of a gentle order.

He did, turning his head, and he smiled, but it was not the smile of a man who gets to live out one of his dearest fantasies. It was tiny and painful somehow. Bittersweet. But he was still hard. She could see that very clearly from her peripheral vision, without even looking directly. He still wanted to have sex with her, so this shouldn’t be too much of an issue.

“Come here?” she beckoned him after a long moment of him just staring at her, looking bittersweet.

He did so, slowly rolling and standing up with a feline grace that made Hermione catch her breath. Even sad, he was magnificent.

“Take control of the broom?” she asked quietly as he approached. She was quite reasonably concerned about slamming herself into a wall. A rather unyielding stone wall. Both of them, really. Both of them slammed into a wall, all her fault, no more sex.

He nodded and mounted behind her, his body almost searingly hot against her back and her thighs. He leaned them both down so he could take the handle firmly in his left hand and whispered quietly, “I am in control,” in her ear, but she wondered, really, when it came to everything _but_ the broom, if he really was. He let go of the broom but curled his legs into the stirrups, forcing hers to do the same. He pulled her closer, deeper into his lap and she groaned. He wasn’t inside of her, but if she leaned over some, it would be easy. But instead, he had his lovely, large and calloused hands rubbing gently from her stomach to just below her breasts. And then came the warming charms.

Oh dear _God._

She could feel it everywhere, his magic enveloping her, pressing against her gently but firmly, and she was suddenly so cozy and warm, even her toes were warm, but his magic, oh, the effervescent feeling of it caressing her skin, it was momentarily overwhelming because it was just _everywhere._

Hermione waited for him to start spontaneously talking, but he didn’t. Instead his hands were working her over quite thoroughly as they sat upright, their legs curled underneath them. She loved his hands. They were always so hot and hard and they always felt so good on her skin. And eventually she came, which was not part of her plan at all, but his hands felt so good, and he had one buried in her pussy and one gently cupping her breast, the fingertips of that hand working much less gently on the nipple in question.

He held her quietly as she caught her breath, leaning heavily back on him, one of her hands still up and over her head and buried in his curling hair, fingernails scratching lightly at his scalp. When she had well and truly caught her breath she sank down in front of him, gripping the broomstick for balance and wiggled her arse. 

He groaned and shifted, lining himself up to her entrance.

Hermione sank back on him and it was like coming home, but quickly she sat back up again, though she held her hips at a sharp angle to keep him inside of her. She could squeeze him within her, but he couldn’t do much in the way of thrusting, she thought. A bit, but not much, which meant he couldn’t easily take over.

Well, he probably could. But he might not.

She brought his hands to her breasts. She put both of hers above and behind her, in his hair. And then she spoke.

“Talk to me, Viktor. Tell me what’s wrong,” she said softly on a sigh.

“I can’t,” he said, his voice catching on a sob.

“You are safe,” she assured him, as he often did her, “and I love you, and you can tell me anything. Anything, Viktor.”

His arms shifted and he hugged her around her waist, sunk his head to her shoulder. She kept one hand on his head and the other she laid over his arms. She could just barely keep her posture with her hips to keep him inside her and she decided that she would until she couldn’t anymore, and that would be okay.

And then he spoke. It all poured out of him, and Hermione was reminded yet again how deeply he worried about things and how much the inequality of their feelings for each other before they started dating again cut into him. When he was finally silent, she held him for a moment longer.

“Can I be reasonable and logical for a moment, or are you not ready yet?” she asked with great gentleness. 

His laugh was harsh and humorless. “Please. Do. One of us should be and it’s clearly not me.”

“Okay, let’s think about this, and let’s think about this logically. The war ended in June, and that’s when I kissed Ron for the first time. We hugged, we held hands, we kissed some more for the next week, but it didn’t feel right. I’ll grant you, anything remotely positive felt better than war, and that’s probably why I went there with him for the entire week. But, and this is very important Viktor, so pay close attention to this. We called a halt to it after a week and promised to think about it over the summer, _and then I went to Australia.”_

His arms tightened momentarily around her waist and he peppered some kisses on her neck, gentle things as she continued being as clear and logical as she could be under the circumstances.

“I didn’t tell him. Both Harry and Ron knew about my parents at that point, but only Harry knew I was going to try and get them back. And while Harry was eloping, I was failing over and over again to get them to remember me and you know, it never even dawned on me to ask Ron for help. Or support. That’s just… not what I get from him, or ever have, really.”

“Selfish asshole,” Viktor murmured.

Hermione smiled ruefully and continued speaking. “And then that whole summer, really, the whole summer Viktor, I was terribly depressed. I mean, not suicidally depressed. I was, in fact, quite happy to be alive, relatively speaking, and still quite surprised about it. But there was constant fatigue and lethargy because of the wound on my arm, I was wracked with guilt and depression, and while Harry and Ginny checked in on me about once every three days, Ron never did, not even as a friend. The horcrux had convinced me that you never cared for me as anything other than a vague friend and language expert, and as a potential partner, Ron’s possibilities were getting more and more remote the worse I felt and the longer the silence from him.”

Here, Viktor muttered something in Bulgarian which Hermione had to imagine was something somewhat harsher than ‘selfish asshole’. Though selfish arsehole was pretty harsh.

“Kindly, I can say that I spent the summer thinking about whether or not to have a relationship with him, but honestly, I mean _honestly,_ I spent the summer resenting everything in my life, including him, and wondering if I should try to give it a go anyway.”

He grunted his dissatisfaction with that option, but at the same time, his cock pulsed inside of her and Hermione had to take a moment to have a few deep breaths after that.

“So that was my state of mind at the end of August when Harry and Ginny set me straight about your first courting letter. I mean, it was good to be with them, but when they weren’t around, I was a mess. So let’s say they hadn’t set me straight. Let’s say I didn’t know you loved me so deeply. Even without the translation, I was so moved and comforted by your letter, Viktor. All of your letters. I reread them over the summer, over and over, along with my parents’ letters. That’s really all I did.”

More butterfly kisses to the side of her neck. 

“I cleaned myself up once every three days because I knew I had to see Harry and Ginny, but the rest of the time I slept, ate leftovers, lived in my pajamas, and read your letters without the horcrux around. And I didn’t know you loved me. I know I had, well, I had what I considered at the time to be a rather silly little crush on you-”

A little huff of laughter from him. Perhaps she read too much into it, but he sounded rather satisfied with that idea.

“-still, after all these years-”

He grunted and it was definitely in satisfaction, because he also pulsed his cock three times in slow succession and it sort of scrambled Hermione’s brain just briefly.

“-a-a-and the fact that in your latest picture in the newspaper you looked absolutely breathtaking didn’t help my desire to be a good and proper friend to you without dissolving into a pit of lust and acting like a fangirl.”

A little growl. Possibly of lust. 

“But I knew our friendship, just as it was, meant more to me, actually, than any prospect of romance with anyone else, and most particularly, Ron.”

“Really?” he whispered, and it was a broken sound. She rubbed his head a bit and then pulled her other arm down over his.

“Really,” she confirmed. “It was a strange knowledge, and I was fighting it, but I could acknowledge it out loud to Harry when he asked at the end of August, and once I could do that, once I had gotten _there,_ I knew I couldn’t possibly be even a friend to Ron. And so I wrote him, too, and told him. Interestingly enough, when we finally spoke on the first, he asked if I was marrying _you.”_

“I hate him a little less, now,” Viktor admitted in a whisper.

She smiled, and continued. “Now, logically speaking, if I hadn’t understood that you meant to court me, I still would have written to you before I went back to school. I’d been planning on it, just at least so the guilt of not writing would go away. And it would have been longer, because I wouldn't have started it at bedtime, while exhausted and still depressed. And if I’d done it on August 31st instead of the 30th, you know, I would have just discovered about all the Pendragon Scion stuff and I would have wanted to talk with you in person, if only because of that. So you might not have done a sexy photo shoot for me. And we might not have started trading orgasms via owl post with the full knowledge of it. But I would have asked you to come for my birthday, Viktor. Without my parents, it wasn’t something I was looking forward to and you redeemed it for me. And maybe the jersey and the way you signed it for me was the way I began to know that you did love me. But Viktor, we still might have had that flying lesson and if we had, I still would have felt the exact same way, like we were preparing to have fully clothed sex and that I was going to die if we didn’t-”

He thrust up into her and growled, but then paused. When her brain unscrambled, she continued.

“-and Viktor, the only, and I mean the _only_ reason we got out of the orgy room without having several rounds of sex, I think, was because we had actually already talked about fantasy and dream and what exactly we wanted but how far we were willing to go, and because we were already courting and so I was feeling like a mature, responsible adult who needed to keep sane boundaries. But if none of that had happened? If I was still feeling reckless and out of control, shocked and thrilled to be alive? And suddenly you, you who had fueled my fantasy life for years, you who were just sex on a fucking stick and so kind and intelligent and powerful and good, you pulled me to you to kiss? Or been amenable to one I had initiated? Oh, Viktor. _Oh, Viktor. “_

He was pulsing in her steadily now, but at this point it only spurred her on in her story.

“Had you been remotely willing, I would have broken that gentleman’s charm and fucked you six ways til Sunday. And it would have spilled out of the orgy room, Viktor, because it’s not about a compulsion to have sex, that would have just been the first domino to go over. I would have fucked you in this room right here, and in the Winter Garden in Concordia, and you would have told me by then just how much you loved me, because that’s who you are.”

 _“Yes, so much,”_ he breathed out. _“So much I love you, Myon.”_

“And you would have asked me to marry you while you were inside me, bringing me to orgasm, or in between rounds, and I would have said yes.”

He groaned, but she didn’t stop.

“I would have screamed it to high heaven as you made me come and I would have been in heaven, Viktor, because never, _never_ have I loved someone like I’ve loved you. After several years of the worsening nightmare of my life, this would have been a dream and we would have negotiated just how quickly we could get married. I’d put it at two weeks. And you still would have switched teams and probably to Ely. But you would have moved into Hogwarts a hell of a lot sooner. And we wouldn’t have done blood magic on our wedding night, no, but we’d still have the seating ritual and all of its effects. And right now we’d still be having a magically-induced stamina for sexual encounters-”

More groaning.

“-and there would have been no way in hell I would have married Ron. Actually no way, not even in hell.”

He murmured something in Bulgarian and his hips started moving, just tiny fractional movements, but after such stillness with only the occasional pulse, it drove Hermione just a little crazy. If her story hadn’t turned entirely sexual in nature - where logic had gone, she wasn’t sure, but neither did she care - she would have had to stop. As it was, she didn’t. Her voice only got somewhat breathier.

“And I would have asked you to visit me on my birthday, Vitkor, because only your presence as my dearest and kindest friend could have made it better. And I would have shown you the Cottage and this Castle, and Viktor, oh, Viktor, we would have walked through one of the orgy rooms. And if you had so much as _looked_ at me with longing in your eyes, I would have kissed you. One look would have given me courage enough to risk it. And I know you would have kissed me back-”

 _“Yes!”_ he growled, still with his tiny thrusts that made her gasp.

“-I would have kissed you and kissed you and kissed you, and you would have broken the charm or cancelled it, and Viktor, the very next thing I would have done would be to suck your cock.”

One of his arms shifted over her torso scar so he could hold on to her opposite shoulder and steady her as he thrust up into her rather more strongly now, and growling rather more steadily.

Hermione gasped and sighed, but kept talking. “I would have led you to the bed there and pushed you down,” she said gasping and loving both the sex and the story she was telling. “I would have unbuttoned your shirt because I would be dying to see your chest. And then on my knees in front of you, in my sassy red boots, I would have unbuckled your belt and watched your sexy, dark eyes go wide. I would have unbuttoned your trousers and pulled out your cock which I imagine would have been quite hard by then, and Viktor, I would have been salivating and rubbing my own thighs together. I might have said something just as sassy as my boots, but I would have kissed the tip, licked the length, and then sucked you down, Viktor, just as far as I could go, and when you came and the taste was bearable and even a bit okay, I would have realized just how easy it was, and just how often I wanted to be able to push you down, rip open your trousers, and suck you off.”

His thrusts weren’t deep, but they were strong and slow and somehow inexorable. He was still growling softly.

“And then,” Hermione panted, “and then would you have pushed me gently back? Crawled off the bed and over to me?”

 _“Yes,”_ he growled.

“And off goes the sweater and shirt, and then a seam split on my poor jeans and probably my panties too, all so you could eat me out with my sassy red boots on.”

 _“Sexy!”_ he growled, thrusting up in his slow but strong rhythm. “ _Those boots are so fucking sexy, Myon,”_ he said, and Hermione had to take several deep breaths before she could go on.

“It would be a dream come true, your tongue in my pussy, Viktor. I would have screamed. Right then. The first time. You would have made me come so good, so much better than when I tried myself, just thinking about you, remembering your smile, or thinking about your arms in the photoshoots you resent. And I would have said all sorts of silly things. I would have told you how much I dreamed about you fucking me, how I never knew you wanted to. There would be other things to say, about your mind, and your dedication, and your love, but possibly on the verge of orgasm I wouldn’t have been thinking of them. Because your tongue would have been in my pussy Viktor, and that would have been the best experience I’d had since I’d gotten my wand, and just lately, by a long shot.”

“Fuck yes, Myon,” he said, his voice coming out a whispery growl, still slowly thrusting. “Tell me more. Tell me how it would have been.”

“Well, eventually I would have looked down and wondered why you were still dressed. Would you have been saucy, Viktor? Two orgasms in, would you feel comfortable enough to tease me and tell me it was because I hadn’t taken them off you yet?”

“Yes,” he growled, and this time she could hear the smile in his voice.

“And then we’d just be crawling all over each other. I’d strip you down to your wand sheathe. But I’d want to touch you as I go. Kiss. Because this would have been the best birthday present I’d opened by far. And maybe we’d talk about birth control, and maybe we wouldn’t.”

“Yes, ve vould,” he moaned. “I knew-” he gasped, and started again. “I knew the spell, if, if you didn’t.”

Hermione grinned and enjoyed the gentle fucking she was getting as she continued her story. “Being prepared has never been so sexy, Viktor,” she purred. “And I might have told you that, too.”

“Vould have begged,” he growled out, his accent thicker. “Be the mother of my children. Marry me and never send me avay.”

“I would have said yes. Without hesitation. I would have had a flash of realizing that I can have a life that isn’t a nightmare, and I would have said yes,” Hermione said, suddenly having much more sympathy for Harry eloping. “And we would have had sex - quick rounds for you, perhaps, but somewhat longer from my perspective - on the floor of the orgy room, against the column outside and toward the Winter Garden, and then on the grass, or on a bench in the garden, and then possibly in the middle of the standing stones-”

 _“Fuck, yes!”_ he shouted in agreement, but against her shoulder so it was somewhat muffled.

“-I’m asking you about that later, but then we probably would have christened the banquet table in the Great Hall, possibly the grand staircase-”

 _“I eat you on the banquet table, yes, yes, I have vanted this-”_ he groaned and then bit the juncture of her neck and shoulder. The bite wasn’t hard, but the sucking was and it almost derailed Hermione entirely.

“And, and… um, and if we made it to this bed, which we might not have, actually, we might have missed dinner entirely and your return portkey as well.”

“Always carry emergency portkey home,” he reminded her, his voice still gravelly, before he went back to her neck, and the arm that had long been around her waist shifted until his hand was at the front of her pussy, one thick finger seeking out the head of her clit.

And quite suddenly Hermione was beyond logical thought, beyond telling stories, though she was still capable of the basic sort of encouragements that the situation called for.

_“Oh, yes, Viktor, yes, oh, harder? Deeper? Please?”_

He let go of her neck and eased his hold on her shoulder, though not her clit. _“Bend over!”_ he ordered her in a growling tone of voice that at this point, almost got her the rest of the way to orgasm, especially as his cock throbbed when he used it.

She followed orders, and grabbed the broom with both hands, fully knowing that this, _this_ was his primary fantasy, perhaps from day one. Except for the fact that they were utterly stationary. But other than that.

He shifted once and she could feel his free hand at her hip, flexing, his chest looming lightly over her back, and then the hand on her hip instead reached just beyond her and gripped the broom just above her hands, and she could see where all those callouses came from, and likewise the corded muscles of his forearm.

When Viktor gripped a broom, it did _not_ go anywhere. At least, anywhere he didn't want it to.

The broom was utterly motionless as he hammered into her, his cock reaching such depths with absolutely perfect leverage (she knew, she’d already thought about the mechanics of it) between his feet in the stirrups and his legs coiled like springs, and his arm bracing on one side, and _all_ the muscles he’d built playing Quidditch every day, all day, for years.

Hermione’s breathing was coming in gasps as he pounded into her and she did her best not to go anywhere and just hold steady against his thrusts.

When he sucked on her neck again, every exhale became a little yell and when he finally, finally pounded her into an orgasm, tripping over into his own only moments later his heavy breathing was his own audible contribution to the sucking noises, and the slapping of skin and her own little screams.

And finally the broom moved, but slowly, so slowly and when it was over the middle of the bed, he rolled the broom, still holding on to her tightly as they hit the bed and he cancelled the broom entirely.

Hermione pushed the broom away, up to the top of the bed and away from them. He was still inside of her. Still hard, at least for now. His hand was still in her pussy, his tongue now licking the mark he had undoubtedly made.

“I love you, Hermione,” he said, using her full name and carefully and somewhat exotically pronouncing every syllable, as he did.

“And I love you, _Veektorr,”_ she said, carefully pronouncing his name correctly as well.

A single snort of laughter came from him before they slept, but she took it and was content.

* * *

Fifteen minutes before six in the morning, running shoes on, Dee trotted down the stairs. There would be tea and croissants, he’d been told, and while croissants were absolutely not on his diet, the tea would be welcome, and he’d already downed an energy bar that _was_ on his diet so that he wouldn’t go running on an empty stomach.

But Harry had mentioned that a bunch of people went running at six am, some fast, some slow, and there in the Great Hall there were a number of various people stretching and lounging, eating and drinking, and all of them looked ready to go for a run in January. Not that there was snow on the ground, but it wasn’t exactly warm, either.

“Morning, Dee,” several people chorused as he walked up. Fleur was the only one he’d spent any significant time with, other than Harry, but she was deep in conversation with the Prince, so it looked like he was on his own.

A cup of tea would help, he considered. It usually did. When he poured it out it looked good and strong, so he put a dollop of cream in - ooh, it was real cream, not milk - and he blew on it as he walked over to a semi-empty area near someone he knew not at all, put his tea on the table nearby and started stretching. And making conversation.

“Morning,” he greeted the unknown man of roughly his same age. “I’m Harry’s cousin, Dee. What’s your name?”

“Oh,” said the other man happily. “Very nice to meet you, Dee. I’m Neville. Friends of all them with titles,” he said, nodding backwards at everyone else as he reached out to shake Dee’s hand.

“Right, right, so you’re a wizard then?” Dee asked, starting to stretch his hamstrings. He thought he remembered a Neville from Fleur’s story of the war, and if so… this was the young man, his own age, who ran an underground school during that horrid war.

“That I am, Dee,” and then he changed the subject, but it was all still pleasantries. “So I hear you’re going off with Draco after breakfast, then?”

Dudley grinned. “Yes, I can’t wait. He’s going to show me his vineyard and winery in Burgundy. I’ll be interning there this summer. And then in a couple of days I’m going to do a language intensive in his Chateau in Champagne until University starts back up again. I think it’s going to be brilliant.”

Both men did quad stretches as they chatted about the ins and outs of learning second languages and Dee barely remembered to drink his tea before everyone started making their way to the giant oaken door that led to the outside.

Quickly as they began to run, groups formed. Up ahead was Prince Viktor and Harry’s adopted mother, and damn they could run. Then it was Harry, Neville, and Dee, and the pace was a little much for Dee, but he’d maintain it for as long as he could, and hell, it would be good for him. And then in the slowest group was the Queen, Ginny, and his friend Fleur, who were, if he understood the situation, all sort of sister-in-laws. 

Dee ran in silence for a bit and when there was conversation, it was like they had forgotten he was there, but honestly, Dee needed all his breath for the running, so that was just as well.

“So,” Neville said to Harry. “You have parents again. Almost jealous.”

“Whatever,” Harry said in a tone that Dee thought was teasing, but wasn’t entirely certain. “You’ve been able to hug yours all along.”

Neville snorted. “Yeah, but half the time they don’t recognize me. That’s really giving with one hand and taking away with the other.”

“Point. You gonna have them at the knighthood ceremony? Might be a lucid day for them, you know,” Harry said and Dee wondered, really, _what the fuck?_

“Oh, please. How do you imagine _that_ would work?” Neville scoffed and Dee was frankly glad he couldn’t say anything anyway.

“Come on, Neville. Wheelchairs are a thing, even in the magical world. And I’m sure your Gran could strong arm or fund some orderlies to come along with them. You don’t give yourself enough credit with that woman. I think she adores you, in her own way. Just write to her and tell her you really hope they can be there and see what she can do. The woman daunted Lucius Malfoy. I’m sure she can get this done for you,” Harry pointed out.

“Huh. Yeah, I’ll think about that. Thanks. So how are your cello lessons, yeah? I feel so out of it since this festival has been going on.”

Cello? Like, the poncy classical instrument, cello?

Harry? His scruffy, wartorn cousin?

Since when?

“Ha!” Harry laughed, a little out of breath, but not nearly as much as Dee was, given that Harry could still talk. “Well, you know, I still squeak a bit, but my bow work is coming along, Mama Krum says. And the calluses on my left hand are coming along, and she says I’m lucky to have long fingers, and that it’ll be easier for me than it was for Viktor, but I think she just says that because I can just barely play _Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star._ But to hear Mum and Dad tell it, I’m a thwarted prodigy.”

“You still going to church?” Neville asked and Dee marvelled. Church? Harry found religion, too?

“Yeah, I think I might join the choir, actually. Mama Krum already taught me how to read music, and Father Michael says they’re always recruiting.”

“Yeah, but… _church?”_

Dee couldn’t have put it better.

Harry snorted. “Neville, I _really_ like the idea that I’m not, in fact, the predestined savior of the world, and that it’s not just because I fobbed it off on you, either. That’s someone else’s job, and he was better at it than either of us.”

After a long moment, Neville replied. “Yeah, I guess I see your point. Thanks, by the way. Perfectly fine being a Badass with a Sword. No need to be the Boy Who Lived.”

Harry groaned and Dee wondered what, and also _what?_

“Anyway, so I gather we’re doing Christmas again in a few days? Like, second breakfast, but with Christmas?”

Wait, what?

“Yup,” Harry replied. “Orthodox Christmas. January 6th. Everyone who’s not an Orthodox Christian is just giving a little gift, but apparently Mama and Papa Krum and his whole family in Bulgaria have been waiting for this moment.”

“So, are we going to church, then?”

“Yup,” Harry replied again. “I guess there’s a big vigil that lasts forever but most people are only really expected to drop in. Say some prayers, absorb the atmosphere, kind of thing. I guess it’s very different from Church of England.”

“Huh. Floo?”

What?

“Portkey,” Harry corrected. Maybe. Hard to tell. “Sneaking suspicion we’re actually going to their family church in Bulgaria, but you didn’t hear it from me.”

“Huh. Cool. Never been to Bulgaria,” Neville pointed out, and Dee wasn’t entirely sure he could point Bulgaria out on a map of Europe.

“Yeah, I guess the general idea is ‘don’t go in January’, but Viktor is going to be training on the National Team in the summer, probably, Hermione says. Run up to the World Cup, you know? End of July, beginning of August, and then to the World Cup. Isn’t that going to be held in Argentina this year? Anyway, we’re all invited. Could be a fun way to spend our birthdays, you know? I hear the Rosary’s nice and the dogs are amazing. And I’ve never been to South America. Or anywhere outside the UK, really.”

“Argentina,” Neville mused as Dee just listened intently. “I want to say they gave Hermione some extremely expensive cattle. Like, beef, not dairy, but I do think the herd has breeding capacity. I think. Maybe. Hell, I think I need to read a book on basic animal husbandry so I don’t look like an idiot. I mean, I know where roast beef and steak comes from, but I never thought I’d have so many food animals around me, you know?”

“I’m looking forward to learning how to ride a horse. Now that Hermione has a bunch, I figure it’s a good time. Not that there’s room in Grimmauld Place for a stable in the back or anything, though I guess you do still see horses in Hyde Park sometimes, but I figure we’ll spend a significant portion of the year hanging out with Hermione, or having her over as a guest, you and Luna and Draco, too. So I may as well make the most of it for my own sanity, you know? Loads of time on my hands now that Tom is dead and I’m not on a Quidditch team. Speaking of which, have you applied for your part-time mastery, yet?”

“Yep, all owled out the day before we left. Madam Sprout gave me a recommendation and pointed me in the direction of three likely masters. We’ll see how well the part-time request goes over. What about you?”

“Meh. I just applied to Alexandria for now. I mean, it’s likely they won’t want me, but that will give me more time to learn more skills, you know? Maybe start learning Latin and Old Welsh. Gonna need that with the Pendragon Library, you know? And then I’ll just look into other great libraries come next fall and try again. I mean, I’ve got plenty to read and practice on between now and then,” Harry said, and Dee marvelled at how easy it was for his cousin to talk relatively normally and still run at speed.

Then they talked about the slow process of book binding and how much Harry was learning as he went.

“Well, when you get better at it and are ready to practice restoration on a magical codex, I’ve got some herbology ones that have been handed down that are in pretty rough shape. Couple hundred years old and they look every inch of it.”

Harry audibly winced. “Yeah, let me keep practicing on used science fiction for a bit. I don’t want to mess up your family heirlooms.”

“You’ll get there,” Neville assured him. “Do you know which masteries Hermione’s going for? Eventually, I mean?”

“Um, last count was arithmancy, ancient runes, ley lines, and blood magic, though I wouldn’t be surprised if she slips sideways into a charms mastery as well.”

 _“Five?”_ Neville ejaculated. “The woman’s doing _five bloody masteries?”_

Harry laughed and where he got the lung capacity to do it Dee would really, really like to know. “If she had time she’d do transfiguration, too, but she had to draw the line at four. The sideways charms mastery is my own conclusion, by the way. Apparently she got bored one day from her regular load of classes, the independent study of world peace and prosperity, and her torrid love affair with Viktor and turned her trunk into a complete beachfront boutique hotel. She mixes transfiguration, charms, arithmancy, and ancient runes so it will all last, and I quote, _a few thousand years._ ”

“You’re joking.”

“Nope. We never would have won the war without her, Neville.”

“No, I mean, you think she got bored of Viktor? Has she lost her mind entirely?”

“Figure of speech, mate. Maybe she just used the time turner. Doubt she _actually_ got bored with Viktor.”

“Oh. Right. Right.”

Dudley was almost but not quite gasping for air. Shit, they ran fast. But he also didn’t want to bust into the girls-only running group. It was hard to tell, but they’d definitely gone a mile already, and maybe more.

Meh, it was time to walk and have a nice long cool down.

God he had a long way to go before he was really in good shape. It was happening, but Dee really wasn’t _done_ yet.

Without a word, as he wasn’t capable of any anyway, Dee slowed to a walk and neither his cousin nor his cousin’s friend seemed to notice, but that was okay. He was keenly aware that he was a bit of an interloper in what was essentially now a private house party of extended family and a few close friends. Draco had said they would leave at eight, which meant that there was time for a wash and a brush, a proper breakfast, and one last goodbye to the TARDIS castle.

As Dee walked and gasped for air, making a beeline back toward the set of little magical structures, he was very aware of the fact that it was on a small hill that felt, presently, like a mountain in the middle of the meadow.

A flash of thought that was perhaps insight, or perhaps ancient memory, streaked across his brain. He saw an army approaching the castle, or trying. Running uphill toward the structure with siege engines before and behind should have been not that challenging, but it was like running through treacle with a rope around your waist on which someone was constantly hauling you backwards. In that same flash of something he thought, or perhaps imagined, a thick wall of yellow light streaking up like a column of protection from The Enclosure wall.

Dee blinked and shook his head and the thought was gone, replaced by the excitement of his coming morning in France and his ability to actually avoid his father until Easter break.

* * *

When Dee had gotten down to breakfast there were plenty of people around, just none of the runners as he had very clearly been the first one back. He’d decided to actually pack up all his things and take them down and pop them in the salon he’d been assigned to when he came down for breakfast. At the last minute he remembered to take an anti-nausea pill and checked his camera. Five pictures left on the roll, which meant he could take a few more before he left, or maybe save them for France. Not that he took great pictures, and pictures never could really capture the moment, but still.

Luna had beckoned him over once he had gotten his plate full of tomatoes, sausage, eggs, and one half piece of toast. They sat together and chatted amicably and he congratulated her again on her upcoming marriage with Draco.

“That’s very kind of you, thank you, Dee,” she responded, and Dudley was struck all over again at what a genuinely nice person she seemed to be.

Then the conversation shifted to journalism, magic, and the cross-over of fields in which magic is not actually much required. Like vitaculture. And journalism.

“It’s truth, really, that’s needed,” Luna was saying. “Truth and love. People need them both. Grapes need them both. We can’t flourish without either of them, and magic or no magic, we can’t accept substitutes for what we need in this world. Without them, life turns sour, don’t you think?”

Dee snorted. “Absolutely. I mean, I’m just coming to realize it, but yeah.”

_Truth and love. Without which, life turns sour._

Well that was his childhood in a nutshell.

And apparently, grapes needed truth and love, too. Maybe as much as he did.

Suddenly, Dee wasn’t worried anymore, and with the lack of it he finally could acknowledge that he’d been anxious about making a good impression and generally not being stupid about things during the tour. Because the grapes needed truth and the grapes needed love and all he had to do was figure out what that meant in terms of grapes.

He took a deep breath and smiled and then thanked Luna from the bottom of his heart.

She smiled in return and then greeted her soon-to-be mother-in-law who approached with her breakfast bowl and joined the conversation.

The Countess Black was the most elegant and graceful person he’d ever met, even considering QEII, and was so beautiful she gave Fleur Weasley a run for her money. Dudley was a little tongue-tied and tried not to think that she might very well be his mother’s age, though she really didn’t look it. He participated in conversation to the best of his ability, which wasn’t much and mainly he ate and drank tea so much so that a trip to the lav would be absolutely necessary before he left. Well, it would have been a good idea anyway, really.

By the time Draco came down it was nearly eight and they all but traded spaces, as Dee went off to refresh himself and get his luggage and Draco sat down to eat two croissants and an egg. When he came back, Harry met him at the bottom of the stairs and hailed him.

“Glad I caught you. Thought I’d walk out with you to the apparition zone, you know? You said goodbye to Hermione and Viktor yet?”

Dee shook his head. He knew he needed to, and yet he couldn’t actually imagine interrupting them at breakfast, which they’d only just sat down for.

Happily, Harry took him over and started the ball rolling and the thanks and good-bying were blessedly brief.

“Come on,” Harry said, ending what might have been an awkward moment of not knowing how to extract himself. “Draco said eight, and it’s eight. He can bring the last croissant with him. It’s a long walk.”

Dee put his coat on and took his suitcase and Luke’s cage back from Harry who also put his coat on as they approached along the long table. Fleur stood up and gave him a hug goodbye, and Bill gave him a handshake over the table and wished him well.

“Have a great time in Peru, and for God’s sake be careful!” he said in response and Bill smiled while Fleur laughed.

Harry expedited Draco while Dee was farewelled by Luna and the Countess and soon they were off and out of the building.

“So, I got a letter from Alexandria. I made it past the first round of vetting, and I’m to send them a portfolio of my work by March 1st. ‘Course, I don’t have a portfolio, but I suppose I might by the end of February.”

Dee congratulated him and then quizzed him on what the portfolio would entail.

“Well, I’ll double check this of course when I get back to school, but I’m pretty sure it’s about the books I’ve repaired, tamed, bound, and covered, but I’m going to try and figure out a way to put in there about my experience of being lost in time and space and not panicking. And you know, getting back to reality right quickly. Because I figure that’s pertinent, you know? And maybe should be part of my portfolio, somehow. So, I guess there might be some essays, too. I mean, there’s only a few really dangerous books I’ve ever had to deal with. One wanted to eat me, but I took care of that with my belt and could still use the book afterwards, so that’s a win, i figure. The other was possessing Ginny and tried to feed me to a snake and take over the world, and I killed it, but I’m not sure that will go down well with the most famous library in the Western World.”

Dee blinked as Draco asked for details that apparently he’d always been curious about. How did he kill the journal? Stabbed it with a basilisk fang full of venom. _What?_ Why couldn’t he just reason with it? It was two-hundred foot long and bent on murder, that’s why. _The book was two-hundred feet long? What?_ How did he kill the snake, anyway? Sword of Gryffindor, after it was blinded by Fawkes. Climbed up a bloody great statue and stabbed it in the head. _Whoa, fuck._ They couldn’t have really been that close to death, could they? And then Harry pushed up the coat sleeve of his right arm, and took his jumper sleeve with it and showed them a scar that must have been the size of a two pence piece. Basilisk fang. Fawkes cried on him, whatever that meant, and sang to them both.

“How many scars do you have?” Dee asked in horrified wonder.

Harry snorted. “Enough. Enough for a lifetime. Hence my desire to live quietly with books.”

“Wow. That was a hell of a year,” Dee remarked and both men looked at him with different levels of question in their gaze as they walked.

“Nah, man. That was when I was twelve, and all things considered, a relatively easy year. Heck, that was the year we snuck into the Slytherin Common Room.”

 _“You what?”_ yelled Draco.

Harry laughed, but Dee’s brain was stuck on ‘when I was twelve.’

“Bet you’ve never been in Gryffindor, have you?” Harry countered Draco, apparently not feeling the need to explain at all. “Lovely place, too. Not a sickly and cold green, nor under the lake. High, warm, red, lovely. Beautiful views out on the loch, really. Most beautiful views in the world. I miss it, sometimes. But I’m glad to be back this year, even if I’m not in Gryffindor Tower. It’s nice to just… I don’t know, have a single easy year, I guess.”

“I can’t believe you snuck into the Common Room and I didn’t even know it,” Draco groused.

Harry only laughed and would say no more about it. They walked much of the rest of the way in silence, Dee thinking all over again about the level of horror his cousin had to endure, and his own soft life in comparison.

_Truth and love._

The words echoed in his mind, cutting through the guilt and shame. Truth and love. It’s all anyone really needed. Everyone and everything (including grapes) needed truth and love and the rest were just details. What Harry and Draco and Dee needed now was just truth, and love. And if they got that, somehow, everything would be okay, no matter what kind of life they’d had before - hard, soft, or brutal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the chapter. :)
> 
> ...I have good news and bad news (from your perspective, perhaps). 
> 
> **Good news:** the next chapter is all but finished and I plan to upload it this week. It includes the infamous full-text Quibbler article visavis China. 
> 
> **Bad news:** Next Monday I go on Sabbatical (OH MY GOD I'M SO EXCITED AND ALSO QUITE NERVOUS) for 12 weeks in which I will not study in Oxford due to pandemic, but will actually do instead my first choice: write fanfiction at home. (Boggles the mind, doesn't it?)
> 
> But not Debts of Honor.
> 
> For those who are curious, week one is vacation, weeks 2-5 are editing The Crown Prince for beta readers pre-publication, weeks 6-12 are finishing The Meddler.
> 
> If the thought of three months without updates makes you desperate, I would recommend you look into my patreon (it's [/sareliz](http://www.patreon.com/sareliz)) because I'm releasing all sorts of scenes in a variety of fandoms that I'd written ahead just as a 'Gratitude For Surviving 2020' thank you for all tiers all throughout 2021, and that includes future scenes from Debts of Honor. Some are already there. And if you can wait, no worries! You'll read them all eventually, here.


	59. Chapter 51: Wherein the world reacts to HRM Hermione

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A selection of cuttings from various wizarding news outlets over the course of perhaps ten days. Alas, the people residing in The Curtain during The Festival sometimes read their newspapers late, living in a happy little bubble as they were. Except Luna, of course. And Draco, often to be seen these days chortling into his wine at dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so glad to share these with you! They've been written, like the rituals, for months and months, except for very minor changes.

_QEII BESTOWS DUCHIES ON POTTERS, MALFOY  
_ _Received by Luna Lovegood  
_ _[posed picture with QEII dressed for coronation, and Potters & Malfoy in formal dress]_

_On the morning of their sister’s coronation, Harry James Black Pendragon Peveril Potter and his wife, Ginerva Adora Black Pendragon Peveril Potter were given the titles, ‘the Duke and Duchess Black Pendragon’ by Her Royal Majesty Queen Elizabeth II, to be used for the duration of their lifetimes. Likewise, Draconis Adonis Malfoy was given the title, ‘the Duke Black Malfoy’ for the duration of his lifetime. Their children will be styled as Princes and Princesses Royal, and their grandchildren as ‘the Honorable’._

* * *

_HRM HERMIONE MARRIES KRUM  
_ _Received by Luna Lovegood  
_ _[wedding photo of couple with hands tied fast]_

_On December 31st at 3 PM in Cair Paravel, Stronghold of the Northwestern Crossing, Her Royal Majesty Hermione took the hand of Mr. Viktor Cyril Krum, of Bulgaria, in marriage until their souls be rent asunder. The wedding was presided over by Mistress Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress of Hogwarts, OM1, and was blessed by the Rev. Michael Fielding of St. Swithins-in-the-City, London, and witnessed by family and friends. Thus are the houses of Krum, Granger, Black, Pendragon, Peveril, and Potter joined forever._

* * *

_QEII BESTOWS PRINCEDOM ON VIKTOR PENDRAGON  
_ _Received by Luna Lovegood  
_ _[posed picture with QEII dressed for coronation, and HRM Hermione & HRH Viktor wearing torcs]_

_On the afternoon of the coronation of his new wife, Viktor Cyril Granger Krum Peveril Potter Black Pendragon was made Prince Consort by Her Royal Majesty Queen Elizabeth II. All children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren of Her Royal Majesty Hermione and His Royal Highness Viktor will be Princes and Princesses Royal. Succession will be determined by HRM Hermione and confirmed by the Monarch of the Isle._

* * *

_QUEEN HERMIONE’S NEW FASHION  
_ _Witch Weekly Style Reporter  
_ _[pictures of a Gryffindor scarf and a Vratsa jersey on a white background, clearly staged, and a close up of a red pair of boots on a distorted background of many different colors and textures, clearly candid]_

_The day after her coronation, Her Royal Majesty Hermione was spotted around the grounds attending a play and a quidditch game, and later popping in on a circus in the company of Her Royal Majesty Elizabeth II, and two magical tiger kittens on a lead. While the Queen of England was wearing a serviceable tweed suit under a light jacket, the Queen of Avalon was sporting tight jeans, an old VRATSA-KRUM jersey (signed, of course, see front cover picture for a close up of his inscription, ‘All my love, forever’), a Gryffindor scarf, and get this, knee-high red dragonhide boots. Those boots look like Chinese Fireball to us! The very dragon her husband vanquished at seventeen, when they were first dating! SWOON! Her hair was pulled back in a single braid and she was wearing ReyBends, the popular muggle sunglasses. The bright diamond studs and matching bracelet set that go so very well with her engagement ring were reportedly a combined birthday/courting gift from her husband, according to sources close to the Queen._

_Will the Queen start a new trend of tight-fitting jeans and layering close-but-not-exact colors, as she did with Vratsa’s burnished red, Gryffindor’s scarlet, and the Fireball’s flame red? Previously accepted fashion wisdom says it was a major faux-pas, a fashion train-wreck waiting to happen, but the Queen rocked it!_

_And did everyone catch His Royal Highness Viktor’s smile as he stood with his wife after the hidden portion of the coronation? Perhaps he’ll be in the running for Witch Weekly’s Most Winning Smile Award. Previously known for his scowls, Pendragon, nee Krum, might be a contender this year._

* * *

_HARRY & GINNY POTTER ELEVATED BY QEII  
_ _Daily Prophet Staff Reporter  
_ _[two seperate archived pictures of the Potters taken candidly from the Final Battle with grimaces on their faces, casting hexes]_

_On the morning of the Coronation of HRM Hermione, the Pendragon Regent, her blood brother Harry Potter, OM, and his wife Ginny Potter, nee Weasley, OM, both had non-hereditary titles conferred upon them by Her Royal Majesty Queen Elizabeth II. Their Graces, the Potters received the duchy of Black Pendragon. While only lifetime titles, any children of their Graces will be styled Princes or Princesses Royal, while grandchildren will be styled ‘the Honorable.’_

_HRM Hermione and the Duke Black Pendragon underwent the blood magic ritual of binding siblings in a quiet ceremony at Her Majesty’s seat in Wales on the 12th of October of this past year. This is not the Duke’s first connection with the House of Black, as his godfather was Sirius Black, wrongly imprisoned in Azkaban for twelve years, and his paternal grandmother was likewise a member of a cadet branch of the House of Black._

_The House of Black has grown apace with the reinstatement of Andromeda Tonks, nee Black, sister of Head of House, Lady Narcissa Malfoy, the Countess of Black, and the acknowledgment of Edward Lupin, grandson of Madam Tonks and son of fallen heroes Remus and Nymphadora Lupin._

_Former Death Eater Draco Malfoy was also elevated, due to extenuating circumstances._

* * *

_HRM HERMIONE ATTENDS ELY V. DUNBLANE EXHIBITION MATCH  
_ _Daily Prophet Quidditch Staff Reporter  
_ _[picture of HRH Viktor coaxing HRM Hermione on his broom and flying away]_

_Played in her own backyard on her personal quidditch pitch, our brand new Queen of Avalon came out with friends, family, and the Queen of England to watch her husband sport his brand new jersey, and watch Ely utterly devastate the Dementors on the pitch some might argue is now their home away from home._

_If anyone was doubting whether or not the International Quidditch Phenomenon, World’s Best Seeker, and now His Royal Highness the Prince Consort would change his name, Ely ended the questions an hour before the match when they unfurled seven giant banners proclaiming their starting line-up, and the thirty-foot high picture of HRH Viktor pictured him not only under the literally larger-than-life name PENDRAGON, rather than KRUM, but also instead of a scowl on his face and a broom across his shoulders in his standard pose, he had sported an intense stare and had the Pendragon Sword of Legend, Excalibur, across his shoulders. Ely’s shameless promotion got a laugh and a swoon, depending on the fan. Hope Ely got all the promo pictures they wanted, because that sword is in a stone now, and only Queen Hermione can take it out again._

_The final score was 470 to 30, and while Pendragon could have ended the misery of the Dementors earlier, as he caught sight of the snitch at time marks 2:34, 24:59, and 38:44, he drew the game out, distracting the Dunblane seeker with feints, dives, and the masterful psychological tomfoolery we all know and love from him. Finally Pendragon caught the snitch at 54:23, making for an excellent length for an exhibition game: not too short to feel as if you haven’t gotten your effort’s worth in climbing all the stairs, and not too long so that you feel like you’re missing out on the rest of the festival. To top that off, Ely’s entire side was shining in top form, working like a charm from a master, a seamless essay in effortless beauty that comes from great talent, excellent coaching, and a unified vision._

_After the game, with Pendragon picking up his royal wife from the top box and flying off into his castle with her, Inferi Head Coach Xena MacAster commented, “Yes, it was a decent showing. We were all on point, the Beaters no less than our Keeper Kaminski, who I think is the man of the hour, really. The Chasers proved their worth today, and yes, our Seeker did a fine job of drawing it out so we could have a decent length game. Yes, Pendragon is officially on vacation today, from the moment he caught the snitch and he comes back in two Tuesdays. No, I cannot comment about his handfasting leave as he hasn’t submitted the request yet. Why aren’t you asking me about Chani Kaminski? The woman shut out 43 tries on goal in 54 minutes and nearly fainted of exhaustion. Are you reporting for Style or Quidditch? Focus on the real star of the game!”_

* * *

_GOLDEN EMPIRE WIZARDS TO ADOPT HRM HERMIONE  
_ _Luna Lovegood  
_ _[picture of Chinese delegation in full prostration before Queen Hermione]_

_In a fascinating move of international and cross-cultural goodwill, the Chinese Wizarding community known as the Golden Empire has recognized that HRM Hermione, Queen Regent of Avalon and Viscountess Black, has the Mandate of Heaven and is thus properly the Empress of the Golden Empire and the true monarch of all China, wizarding and muggle alike._

_HRM Hermione was presented with a proclamation declaring the Mandate in Mandarin, and the three thousand year old Phoenix Crown after her coronation. The fabled Phoenix Crown has not been worn by a monarch since before the Pendragon line went extinct, and legend tells that the bearer has the capacity to call Phoenixes into service when truly blessed by Heaven’s Mandate._

_The Golden Empire has approximately four million witches and wizards residing within the boundaries of China, and more abroad who still maintain their nationality._

_Historically, the Golden Empire has sometimes but not always recognized that the non-magical head of state of China has the Mandate of Heaven, and most importantly, the Advisors to the Empire, the parliament of magical folk who administrate in lieu of an Emperor, have never recognized the Communist Party._

_“Augurs were seen and this time of peace and prosperity was foretold in the stars, in the birds, in the rice, and in the tea,” said Tang Li at the coronation festival, Ambassador of the Advisors to the Empire. “We of the most beautiful Golden Empire understand that when it is said Empress Hermione, serene and kind, is the Queen of Avalon, that is to mean that she is the benevolent ruler given to us by the Supreme Buddha in the Highest Heaven in order to guide and enlighten us all.”_

_When asked about HRM Hermione continuing to reside primarily in Wales, Tang Li responded, “Yes, this is true and good. Her seat is the focal point of heaven and earth energies, and all of the chi meridians are strengthened and cleared because of her goodness and clarity. Empress Hermione, constant and true, has promised to come to us at the beginning of each new year - our year, you understand - and she will ring the bells and spill the blood and teach us of peace and wisdom.”_

_When asked about the historical animosity between the British and the Chinese, Tang Li replied, “Yes, many terrible things have passed between us, a quiet war of addiction and greed, and a lack of cultural awareness, a lack of respect of our sovereignty. This has been our past. And should we dwell in our past, it could become our future.”_

_When asked how the Advisors to the Empire will balance the need for sovereignty with a British Empress, Tang Li laughed and said, “The thrice-blessed Empress Hermione will do no harm to those she loves, and the Golden Empire is certain of the love between Heaven and its Empress, and its Empress and itself. This is what the Mandate of Heaven means._

_“The Great Buddha was born an Indian, but India is in the World, and when asked, returned to the World its own. The Great Jesus was born a Jew, but Judah is in the World, and when asked, returned to the World its own. The Great Mohammed was born an Arab, but Arabia is in the World, and when asked, returned to the World its own. The Golden Phoenix of the World was indeed born British. But is not Britain in the World? And will not Britain give back to the World its own, when such luminaries are called forth as others have?_

_“The Advisors will humbly send our Empress three of our very finest teachers of chi, neigung, and culture, and the Empress has expressly requested one of our number to serve at her court in order to join her personal advisors. The Golden Empire rejoices to find such wisdom and humility in her chosen Empress.”_

_When asked if the Advisors could imagine a time when HRM Hermione’s duty to British Wizards would conflict with her duty to Chinese Wizards, Tang Li replied, “How could that be, if the Empress, wise and foresighted, has nothing but love in her heart for us all? As the Golden Empire recognizes the Mandate of Heaven, so does the British Wizarding community, for did not their high queen crown the Empress in the name of God Almighty? Long ago China recognized the way of Jesus the Christ as a good and holy path of enlightenment with no major impediment. As we speak different languages, do we not use different words for similar concepts? As the Golden Empire has so long gone without recognizing any leader as having the Mandate of Heaven, have not the British wizarding people gone without a Regent of Avalon? No. We are entering into a time of unparalleled peace between our communities. The mistakes of non-magical people can hardly be a thing of importance to us if we focus on the ways in which we may enrich each other’s lives, surely?”_

_More information shall be reported when it exists._

* * *

_CORONATION FEVER: A NEW MUGGLE MASS DRUGGING?  
_ _Letter to the editor, Daily Prophet, January 3, 200__

_I and my family had the dubious pleasure to attend the coronation festival which, as festivals go, was small and uninspiring. Only one stage, only one exhibition match per day, entirely too much security, and filled to the brim with gaping, gormless muggles whose only attachment to the wizarding world is tenuous at best. For what it was, however, it was, perhaps, sufficient._

_I had the most profound objection to the inclusion of centaurs and merfolk in what was clearly meant to be a ritual involving only the highest sort, and to include a set of house elves was just beyond the pale. It was obvious at the time that the merfolk were subduing us with siren-song, luring us into a state of mind that would be accepting of such an atrocious insult to good sense and common decency. Regardless of any magic that may or may not have occurred concerning the ley lines, which all know have very little effect on daily life, and an even smaller effect on the larger life of the nation, I suspect foul play. While the festival organizers are beyond reproach, naturally, it seems clear that the champagne toast after the coronation was spiked with some sort of muggle mind-altering drug, of which the muggles have so many varieties for every occasion, being lesser beings who cannot depend upon rhetoric and reason to sway an argument. There is no other possible explanation for the base euphoria that occurred that evening and into the following days._

_I do not appreciate being meddled with. I do not appreciate having my family meddled with. For all the so-called security that the Ministry provided, and I do hope they were paid in full and that won’t be yet another thing the tax-paying public will need to support in the coming years of now having a monarch regent once more, it was all the most useless theatre. We were all affected then, and Merlin only knows the risks and side-effects to which this poisoning has opened us all._

_I demand an official inquiry into this matter, and I believe Queen Hermione should recuse herself from any part of it. Several ministry officials would be more than competent to oversee the matter done properly, and Undersecretary Umbridge comes to mind as one particularly competent individual with plenty of experience in ferreting out the truth of a matter._

_I will not rest until I know my family is safe from the insidious threat from without, and from within._

_Portentous P. P. Parkinson, IV_

* * *

_ENGAGEMENT ANNOUNCEMENT_

_It is with great joy that Countess Black announces His Grace Draconis Adonis Lord Malfoy, Duke Black Malfoy of Sussex, has accepted the proposal of marriage made by Miss Luna Lenora Linden Laughingly Lovegood, of Wales. Wedding details will be shared with guests only; an announcement of the marriage will be made once it has occurred._

* * *

_BRITAIN EMPTY-HANDED: A SHAMEFUL OVERSIGHT  
_ _Letter to the Editor, Daily Prophet, January 4, 200__

_After perusing with interest the full listing of official coronation gifts offered from all 123 recognized countries in the International Confederacy, I noted with dismay that there was, indeed, only 122 listed. Great Britain neglected to bring a gift to the party._

_That might not have been disastrous, as I have it on good authority that most if not all of the Great Houses and a fair number of the Lesser Houses have all given personal gifts of some heft and usefulness (for instance, the House of Longbottom has given an orchard, the House of Malfoy, a fully-stocked wine cellar, and the House of Shafiq has given a coffee plantation) and admittedly the international gift list included all from the useful and helpful side of the spectrum and past to the frivolous, ridiculous, and dangerous end of the same, demonstrated most clearly by the fact that our Queen now has a nearly-complete set of dragon eggs, lacking only our own native Hebridean, which let me be clear, I am by no means suggesting we give Her Majesty._

_And indeed, while it would be best, in the long run, if the House of Pendragon were just as self-sustaining as most of the other Great Houses, and certainly the gifts from the Great Houses and the more useful ones from the 122 other countries of the International Confederacy will help to build such sustainability, in the short term Pendragon and any efforts Her Majesty might make to help our society become a better and kinder one will be born on the backs of Saudi Arabia, Morocco, Malaysia, Venezuela, and Chile, all who gave trunks of gold, and very likely China, who is likely to be far more generous with their Empress than we seem to want to be with our Queen._

_But Britain? We came empty handed to our own party._

_And Britain? We charged Her Majesty for the security we provided, for the organization we helped to create, and who bore the cost of that? The House of Windsor, offset by souvenir sales. Not the muggle government, you understand; the personal wealth of the muggle House of Windsor, who, if rumors are true, also came bearing several very generous, costly, and useful gifts for Her Majesty._

_Wizarding Britain’s greatest party and best international showing in more than three hundred years was funded by muggles._

_But Britain would not stop there. No gift, only bills. No responsibility, only rights._

_I speak, of course, of the calls made to the Wizengamot to legislate against ever supporting any Monarch of Avalon in any financial way, in perpetuity. Because of course, we will offer a stipend to Order of Merlin recipients, up to and including our newly re-formed Knights of Merlin, but not a Queen who will work seven times as hard for the good of our nation as any Knight? And if Monarchs of Avalon were barred any form of financial payment, that would take away HRM Hermione’s entirely justified stipend as an Order of Merlin 1st Class, and now as a Knight of Merlin. Far before we knew Her Majesty to be the Scion of Pendragon, far before she was named the Heir of Black, she was Miss Hermione Granger, war heroine and one of the quartet of_ _children_ _who were instrumental in bringing down Tom Riddle and his insanity. Without her courage and intelligence and action we would not have aurors, we would have Death Eaters, we would not have the Wizengamot, we would have Riddle’s Kangaroo Court._

_Those who wish to censor and hamstring our muggle-born Queen by passing overarching legislation and instigating meaningless snipe-hunt investigations on the basis that happiness is unnatural are not quite so crafty as they suppose. Their baseless prejudice is unveiled for what it is: resentment growing from the support of a failed dark lord uprising which HRM Hermione helped to vanquish._

_These retaliatory efforts are beneath us._

_Seraphina Shafiq_

* * *

_COMMONWEALTH COUNTRIES RECOGNIZE HRM HERMIONE  
_ _Luna Lovegood  
_ _[picture of HRM Hermione and HRH Viktor cuddling juvenile koalas]_

_The 58 Magical Commonwealth Countries have recognized HRM Hermione as the Queen Regent of Avalon, Avalon in this case being the wizarding world and culture not only in Britain, but all member countries as well._

_The Prime Minister of Magical Canada, currently Lord of the House of the Magical Commonwealth had the following to say, “We’re totally chuffed. Hermione Pendragon is the woman we would want our daughters to be, and we’re honored to have her leading the way with her inspiring vision and landmark desire for a compassionate and sustainable future. We hope that in the next many years she and her family will come and join us all, one by one, so that we can express our deep appreciation of her leadership. And yes, we decided this before China, thank you very much.”_

_MACUSA, former colony and explicitly not a member of the Commonwealth, had the following to say when reached for comment. “Mrs. Krum is certainly a very nice witch, even if she has not yet graduated secondary school, and we are relieved that she has somehow managed to rebalance the ley lines. That is much appreciated. She hosts a great party, and if China and a third of the rest of the world wishes to adopt her as the gifted niece they never had, we wish them well. We look forward to seeing how well she lives the diplomatic and political life when she grows up and her husband stops chasing shiny things,” says Alice Stiltwell, MACUSA President._

* * *

_HRM HERMIONE: FIRST AMONG EQUALS, SAYS EU & OTHERS  
_ _Luna Lovegood  
_ _[picture of HRM Hermione & HRH Viktor sitting, smiling. A cerberus puppy is asleep in HRH Viktor’s lap.]_

_In a move of perhaps unsurprising solidarity spurned by MACUSA President Stiltwell’s scathing remarks reported in this news outlet and beyond, EU member nations are joined by the wizarding communities of Brazil, Argentina, Mexico, Russia, Bulgaria, and Iceland in declaring the Queen Regent of Avalon as the ‘First Among Equals’._

_“We have no Mandate of Heaven, as the Chinese do,” says Irina Romanova, Russian Ambassador and spokeswitch of the loose federation of wizarding communities who have come together to issue this statement. “But we recognize power in the service of wisdom when we see it, and we have seen it but rarely. Historically, almost never. Most of us have gotten rid of our royal houses and do not wish for more, but that does not mean we cannot promise on our magic and on our very honor to listen when she speaks and stop when she says stop, and consider well her words to go when she urges us to do so, for in doing so many pupils have been held up on the shoulders of their teachers and together reached ever greater heights. We lose no sovereignty in recognizing the council of the wise. We only grow wiser ourselves.”_

_When asked if they had any comment about the polarizing statement made on behalf of MACUSA, Madam Romanova said, “We could not possibly make a moral judgment on the wisdom of the words of MACUSA’s honored President Stiltwell. We leave that to the people of the Phoenix Nation herself, and we shall certainly watch with interest.”_

_With the addition of these thirty-three sovereign nations to the fifty-eight Commonwealth nations, and counting China and Britain, HRM Hermione now has the ear and confidence of ninety-three nations world-wide which represents nearly four-fifths of the 123 nations recognized by the International Confederacy of Wizards, and nine-tenths of the wizarding world population._

* * *

_MAGICAL CONGRESS OF USA PASSES BILL: HRM HERMIONE IS WONDERFUL_  
_Luna Lovegood  
_ _[picture of HRM Hermione smiling and holding a golden six-legged kitten of prodigious size]_

_Yesterday in special session, and only twelve days after HRM Hermione’s coronation, the Congress of Magical America passed the M.I.O.N.E. Bill (MC231.213) with more than two-thirds consenting which will allow for an automatic overturn should President Stiltwell choose to exercise her veto. The bill, entitled Magical Idiots Ought Never Elucidate, states in remarkably plain terms that:_

_1- MACUSA rejoices that the once and future king has turned out to be a queen after all._

_2- MACUSA rejoices that even while heroism is lauded, peace is preached by veterans of war._

_3- MACUSA stands in solidarity with her sister nations in recognizing Hermione Jean Granger Krum Peveril Potter Black Pendragon, daughter of non-magical parents, vanquisher of dark wizards, heir to her torturers, knight in the order of Merlin, queen in charge of Avalon; that boundaryless notion of magic and peace, and heavenly empress of all China, as the first among equals._

_4- MACUSA is ashamed at President Stiltwell’s short-sighted and insulting words of a woman who values education, married for love, and is blindingly intelligent and wise, and has called into question whether the President herself could embody any of these things since she clearly cannot recognize them in others._

_5- And apropos of nothing at all, save a bill that is certain to pass and possibly the very tenuous connection of HRM Hermione’s clear affection for her American-gifted wampus kittens, a large amount of funding has been secured for the phoenix nation’s internationally regarded kneazle-based obscurial remediation program and wampus cat sanctuary, Graves Adirondack, something that has faced the budgetary chopping block in Stiltwell’s presidency._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. And what do you say to that?

**Author's Note:**

> I'd love to hear what you think of it. There will be letters. There will be standard scenes. There will be sexy times. There will be so much bloody plot you won't know what to do. And there will be so much character development you'll want to grow as a person just because.
> 
> And if I play a teensy bit fast and loose with canon, I hope you won't mind over much. Lord knows I don't.
> 
> (If in this time of crazy quarantine, you're looking for a little more connection or other things to read, go stalk me on my website, sareliz.com.)


End file.
